


Black Waters, Part 3 - Spirits Under The Stars

by NathanAlmond (NakedOwlMan)



Series: Black Waters (The SLEGWIT Cycle - Book 1) [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Flirting, F/F, F/M, Multi, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NakedOwlMan/pseuds/NathanAlmond
Summary: The investigations continue into the deaths of a mob boss's trusted lieutenant and a high school rebel. But when the police turn up no leads, unconventional methods may prove to be more fruitful.
Series: Black Waters (The SLEGWIT Cycle - Book 1) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608376
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Subterfuge

"Ugh, this is awful! Does all of the music on your planet sound like this?"

Alison looked over at Harmony, her blond-haired, secret alien roommate sneering over at the makeshift stage at the center of the campus quad. The DJ on top of the platform grinned out at the crowd, while the speakers on either side of him blasted out the safest, most bland pop music imaginable.

"What, you don't like Kyron Collins?" Alison said.

"No! This is so... noisy! So much going on at once, you can't even appreciate the melody."

The two of them sat on a bench several feet away from a large crowd of fellow students, all lining up on either side of a long, grassy portion of the Ethridge campus quad. Alison leaned in close to talk in a hushed tone to her roommate. The better to make sure no nosy passers-by overheard them talking about the merits of human culture.

"Well, better get used to him, I'm afraid," Alison said. "He's only the biggest pop star on the planet right now."

Harmony glared at the DJ booth. "Maybe your species hears differently from mine, if they think that _this_ is good music. What range of frequencies can human ears register?"

"Umm, I'll have to get back to you on that one. Why, what is music like back on your home planet?"

"Oh, soooooo beautiful," she said. "A few weeks before I left for my Acclimation, my parents gave me tickets to see the Algrathian Orchestra perform the works of Ren Lethantis, and it was a transcendent experience. Ten hours of the most beautiful synthologic symphonies ever composed."

"Ten hours, are you serious?"

"Ah, but when you get the privilege of hearing Nuveena Lunt play the harmony stones live... it makes those ten hours fly by like they were only nine-and-a-half."

"Harmony... you're screwing with me again, aren't you?"

A whistle sounded, and Harmony jumped up. "Oh, they're finally starting! Come on, let's watch!" she exclaimed, rushing over to join the gathered crowd of students.

Alison shook her head. As nice as Harmony was, this trolling habit of hers was getting to be a real pain. Alison wondered how much longer Harmony was going to keep this up over the next four years. Hopefully she would get sick of it by the time they were sophomores, at least.

She joined Harmony with the rest of the excited crowd, all of them staring down the quad as several pairs of students awkwardly hobbled across the grass. Chase and Tiana clung to each other with matching grins, Chase's left ankle tied to Tiana's right, the two of them putting their all into the three-legged race.

All around Harmony and Alison, the rest of the students cheered and yelled out.

"Whoo!"

"You got this, man!"

"Go, go, go! Kick their asses!"

"You are performing very well, Chase and Tiana!" Harmony called out. "Continue running faster than the other competitors to triumph in this unorthodox athletic competition!"

Alison started to lean over to Harmony, ready to suggest that she tone down her act just a little. But before she could open her mouth, she caught sight of someone on the other side of the crowd.

Not one of the incoming freshmen, that much was obvious from one glance. He was a burly man who looked to be in his early thirties. Shockingly bright red hair and matching stubble on his sun-tanned face. He wore a muddy black tank-top that left his sinewy arms exposed, and the work belt he wore around the waist of his jeans contained what looked to be gardening implements.

But the thing that had caught Alison's attention was his eyes. Not only because they were the most vivid shade of green that Alison had ever seen. But because they were focused, not on the oncoming racers, but across the grassy stretch of land.

Right in Alison and Harmony's direction.

Alison looked away, trying to ignore him. But even with her attention focused on the race, she could still feel his eyes on her and Harmony. She shot several quick glances in his direction as the race continued, and every time he was still looking right at them.

She shivered, not knowing if she should say something to Harmony. Maybe the guy was just a creep, checking out Harmony's curves like so many other guys had been. Or it could be she had caught the guy's attention with her unique method of cheering for their friends.

But Harmony had said something that morning that stuck with Alison. A warning about other alien races besides the Norians being on this planet. Could this be some agent of another extraterrestrial government? Out to unmask Harmony and get her planet punished by the rest of the galaxy?

Working up her nerve, Alison nudged Harmony. "Hey, you see that guy over there?" she quietly said into Harmony's ear, gesturing across the racing area.

Blinking, Harmony looked in the direction Alison indicated. "What guy?"

Looking back across the quad, Alison scanned the crowd for the redheaded stranger. But in the brief moment she had looked over at Harmony, he must have walked away. Alison looked back at Harmony, her roommate staring at her curiously. "Nothing," Alison said. "Never mind."

Meanwhile, Chase and Tiana were passing right in front of Alison and Harmony's spot in the crowd, in the lead and about ten feet away from the finish line. Glancing over her shoulder to see another pairing close at their heels, Tiana furrowed her brow and tried to increase the pace of their step. Chase obviously wasn't ready for the sudden change, however, and struggled to adjust to Tiana's increase in speed. But his efforts were in vain. With a low grunt, Chase went tumbling face-first to the grass, taking Tiana along with him.

"Oh, no!" Harmony exclaimed, as the pair that were in second place dodged around Chase and Tiana's prone bodies and crossed the finish line.

As the crowd cheered for the winners, Chase pushed himself off the ground, a bashful smile on his face as the rest of the racers went past him and the race came to an end. "Damn, we almost had it!" he said. Reaching down, he pulled on the cloth securing his leg to Tiana's, undoing the knot.

Kneeling on the grass, Tiana stared down at the grass stains on her new dress, sighing in frustration. "What happened? I thought you and I were in synch, Chase."

"You were going too quick at the end," Chase said, brushing himself off and getting up on his sandaled feet. He reached down a hand towards Tiana. "I couldn't keep up."

Taking Chase's hand, Tiana rose to stand with a crooked smile. "Well, and here I thought a guy like you would be into fast girls. Maybe later we can get together, work on improving your..." she bit her lower lip. "...rhythm."

Chase rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, yeah." He spotted Alison and Harmony and headed over to them, looking relieved to disengage from his flirty race partner. "Hey, there you two are! That looked fun, right? You totally should have joined in."

"Definitely not," Alison said. "I have enough trouble not tripping over my own two feet. Not a good idea to add a third one to the mix."

"It was a very enjoyable competition," Harmony said. "A shame you weren't able to win the prize."

Chase scratched his head. "Prize?"

"Yes, you were all competing so vigorously. There must have been a valuable reward for defeating the competition."

While Chase explained to Harmony the concept of "just for fun," Alison glanced around the quad, searching for the rest of their group who hadn't been around for the race. Alex had run off a short while ago, telling the group that he was checking in with Dr. Orenstein regarding the strange arrival in the woods outside of campus. All while Alison did her best to keep a neutral expression.

Alex was such a sweet guy. It sucked that Alison had to watch him and his favorite teacher chase down a mystery that she already knew the answer to. But she made a promise to Harmony, and while she would hope that Alex would have kept Harmony's secret if Alison told him, she couldn't risk it. If Alex let it slip to Orenstein, the professor would almost certainly want to let the rest of the world know that all of his wild theories about aliens on this planet were correct. Leading to dire consequences for Harmony and her people.

Not long after Alex had left, a few minutes before the race started, Ashleigh has said something about heading to the dean's office. She mentioned a petition she wanted to hand-deliver demanding that the university recognize the genocide in... somewhere, Alison had forgotten the name. Or maybe it was to eliminate the serving of meat products in the dining halls. It had only been a little over a day, and Alison was already starting to lose track of all of Ashleigh's various causes.

After looking around the area, Alison saw no sign of either of their friends returning. She started to turn back to the rest of the group... when she saw him again.

The red-headed gardener. Further away now, about halfway down the main campus quad, clipping away with a pair of shears at one of Ethridge's many pieces of greenery.

And again... staring right in their direction.

Enough was enough. This was starting to get really creepy.

Alison looked over at Chase, a befuddled expression on his face as he tried to explain Network culture to Harmony. Working up her courage, Alison took a step towards him. No doubt Ashleigh would have thrown a fit if she saw Alison right now: about to ask a big strong man to protect her and Harmony. But she wasn't about to confront some muscle-bound stranger by herself. 

She cleared her throat. "Hey, Chase. Could you-"

"Damn, guess I missed the race," Alex said as he walked up to the group, cutting off Alison. "Sorry, but when the professor gets going, it's hard to get a word in edgewise. Finally had to fake an emergency phone call just to get out of there." He looked over at Alison, her mouth still hanging open to speak. "Oh, jeez, I'm so sorry, Alison. You were about to say something."

Looking down the quad again, Alison wasn't even surprised when she saw that the spying stranger was gone again. "No, it was nothing," she said to Alex. "How'd things go with the professor? He find out anything about what landed out in the woods?" She glanced over at Harmony, who was doing her best to keep a natural smile on her face.

"He's still running tests, so nothing conclusive yet," Alex said. "But definitely looks like something from another star system came down in this area. The residue it left was unlike any other samples the professor had in his collection."

"Really?" Alison said, sticking her hands in her pockets and fiddling with the loose change inside. "Does he think that... I don't know... an alien landed here or something?"

"Well, the professor thinks anything weird around here involves aliens, so that's a pretty safe bet," Alex said, letting out a laugh. "For a solid week, he was convinced that extraterrestrial spies had stolen his spare glasses, until he ended up finding them in his jacket pocket. Still, he seems pretty excited about this. Probably not actual first contact with visitors from another planet, but a unique find, at least."

"Oh, well, maybe next time," Alison said, searching for a way to change the subject away from her and Harmony's little secret. Glancing down, she saw Alex had several papers in his hands. "Hey, what are those?"

"Right, they were handing these out over at the science building," Alex waved the papers. "Thought you freshies might have some fun with it." He moved over to Alison, running his finger down a checklist. "It's a scavenger hunt, see? You're supposed to go around campus and take pictures of all the landmarks on the sheet. First person to finish the list and bring it back to the orientation committee gets a gift certificate for the book store," He leaned over to pat Chase on the shoulder. "Good way to see if the fabled Chase McClendon Ethridge tour was worth all the hype."

Chase grinned. "Damn right. You ladies better ace this thing, or I'm gonna have to assume you weren't paying attention yesterday," he said, giving stern looks to Alison and the other freshmen.

"And while the ladies are off doing that, I figured me and Chase can go head down to the store, pick up some stuff to get ready for the start of the term," Alex said, handing out the papers to Alison and the other freshmen. With one sheet remaining, he glanced around. "Ashleigh... did she run off again?"

"Girl's like a little woke puppy, I swear," Tiana said, tossing her hair with a yawn. "Bouncing around all over the place. Just forget about her. Seems like she's more interested in saving the world than hanging out with us."

"I bet she's just nervous, is all," Alison said. "She's in a new place, meeting all these strangers for the first time. She'll calm down eventually, I'm sure."

"Well, bright side is, if she keeps spending all her time roaming around campus, I'll have our room all to myself," Tiana said. She batted her eyes at Chase. "Just in case I want to have someone come by to help change the sheets."

Chase clapped his hands, turning away from Tiana as he spoke. "Alright, well, you ladies have fun with that. Remember everything I showed you, and you're gonna do great," He tapped Alex on the shoulder, nervously cocking his head away from the group. "We should get going, man. Lots of stuff to buy, you know."

He bolted away like he was chasing down a Hail Mary pass, and Alex moved to follow. "Hey, wait a sec," Alison said, stopping Alex in his tracks. She moved in close to talk quietly. "Can I ask you something? There's this guy I've seen around. Think he's a gardener or something. Red hair, green eyes..."

A smile crept onto Alex's face. "Oh, boy. Not you too."

"'Not me too' what? You know who he is?"

"Of course. That's Mack Poe, he's Ethridge's head groundskeeper," Alex said. "Seems nice enough, can't say I've really talked to him much, though. You'll probably see him around a lot, trimming the hedges and that sort of thing."

Alison frowned. "What did you mean when you said 'not you too?'"

"Oh, it's just... I mean, you've _seen_ him, right?" He gave a casual shrug. "There's a reason his nickname around here is 'Trimmer Daddy,' and it's not 'cuz he's got any kids. When he's out mowing the lawns, it's like a bunch of prairie dogs the way all the ladies' heads pop up in the windows around campus."

"Yeah, I guess he's kinda good-looking," Alison said. She hadn't really noticed, on account of him staring like some sort of pervert at her and Harmony. "So, how long's he worked at Ethridge?"

"Not sure. Never really thought to ask. Since the start of last term, at least." He cocked his head, staring at Alison. "Why so interested in the guy?"

Alison told him about Mack staring at her and Harmony earlier during the race, and the second incident a few minutes later. Once she was done, Alex's casual smile was gone, and he furrowed his brow in concern.

"Weird," Alex said. "Like I was saying, I don't know the guy all that much. But for all the gawking the girls do when he's around, I've never heard of him actually... taking any of them up on the offer." He glanced over at Harmony, currently conferring about the scavenger hunt with Tiana. "But if he _was_ the type to hook up with students... well, not to defend the guy, but I guess I could understand him staring. I mean, Harmony is so... so..."

He searched for the right words, before looking back at Alison and quickly backtracking once he saw the look on her face. "And you, too," Alex said. "I mean, two beautiful women like you and Harmony, who could help but stare?"

"Good cover, there, Alex," Alison said with a smirk. "I guess it's nothing. Like you said, he's probably just drooling over Harmony like every other guy at this school. I'm just being paranoid." She waved him off. "Go catch up with Chase. We'll see you later."

"Right, sure thing," Alex said. "But seriously, if Mack keeps bothering you, just let me know. I'll check in with campus police and have them talk to the guy. The last thing I would want is for you to feel uncomfortable around here."

Alison nodded. "Appreciate it," she said, feeling herself get a little warm as Alex gave her a comforting smile. She watched him as he left to meet up with Chase, hoping that she would catch him sneaking a peek back at her. But no such luck.

Now, if _Alex_ had been the one staring at her, maybe she wouldn't have minded...

"Hey! You doing this thing with us or not, girl?" Tiana called out, snapping Alison out of her daydream. Blinking, she returned to reality and walked over to rejoin Harmony and Tiana, both of them looking over the sheets Alex had handed them.

"Alison, Tiana has a cunning strategy in mind for this hunt of scavenging," Harmony said. "The three of us will split up across campus and each capture images of one-third of the list. Once we have collaborated on photographing our assigned items, we'll send all the pictures to one member of the group, and they'll claim the prize and split the store credit with the rest of us."

"Good idea," Alison said. "How do we want to divide up the campus?"

"I'll head to the south end," Tiana said, pulling out the school map they had been given at orientation and holding it next to the checklist. "The sports fields are down there, and I know a couple of these things are around there." She let out a low chuckle. "And if I'm lucky, maybe some of the boys will be out running pre-season drills, too. Might get a few extra shots for my personal collection."

"Ah, I see," Harmony said. "So you can look at pictures of their sweaty bodies later and masturbate."

Alison expected Tiana to be shocked, but she simply gave Harmony a wide grin. "Girl, you nasty. I love it," She leaned in close to Harmony, voice low and suggestive. "Say, what do you think about Chase's roommate? Gonna try and hit that? I mean, he a little scrawny, but seems like the type who's big where it counts. You know what I mean?"

"Yes, I understand your meaning. You believe his penis is of a larger size than average," Harmony said. "However, I wasn't planning to engage in intercourse with Alex. But I believe that Alison might desire to-"

"Hey, so, I'll get pictures up in the northwest area," Alison interrupted, holding her campus map up to hide the blush on her face. "Yeah, up by the academic buildings, that sounds good. Better get going before everybody else beats us there."

She spun around to leave, almost losing her footing and tumbling down to the brick path below her in her haste.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after she had set off, Alison had gotten pictures of seven of the ten scavenger hunt items in her assigned area. But the last three were proving to be more difficult. Chase had been sure to point out all the buildings on campus during the tour yesterday, but he hadn't taken the group inside any of them. And these last three items definitely sounded like they were located somewhere indoors.

"Von Cannondale Gallery dedication plaque," Alison read off one of her unchecked items. Probably in the Fine Arts building. Chase's helpful description from yesterday played back in her memory: _Yeah, if you like paintings and music and crap, that's where it all is._ A connoisseur of culture, Mr. McClendon obviously wasn't.

Stepping inside the rectangular brick building, Alison spotted a map helpfully posted on the wall. Great, the gallery was just down the hallway. She was totally killing it on this scavenger hunt.

Rounding the corner, she spotted a sign pointing towards the gallery. As she walked, her phone buzzed, Tiana sending her and Harmony a text: "All done with mine! Hurry up, losers, I'll be back on the quad when you're finished."

As she neared the gallery, Alison spotted the plaque. Someone was already standing in front of it, probably getting their own picture for the hunt. Stepping a little bit closer, Alison got a better look at the student in front of the plaque, and recognized the faded army jacket and knit cap covering long blond hair.

Ashleigh? What was she doing here? Was she doing the scavenger hunt on her own?

Alison started to call out to Tiana's roommate, when she saw a glint of motion between Ashleigh and the plaque. As she got closer, Alison saw frothy clear liquid dripping down the bronze dedication. Ashleigh had spit on the plaque.

"Ashleigh?" Alison said as she walked within a few feet of her.

Ashleigh whirled at the sound of Alison's voice, eyes wide. "Wh... what are you..." she stammered.

"There's a scavenger hunt," Alison explained, holding up the list. "I need to get a picture of..."

Alison walked up to the plaque, reading the engraved text dripping with Ashleigh's saliva.

_THE VON CANNONDALE GALLERY_

_This gallery made possible by a generous grant from the Von Cannondale family, in hopes that the beautiful works contained inside will inspire everyone who has the privilege of viewing them._

Below this text was a list of names. Two names next to each other: Gavin Von Cannondale and Lilian Von Cannondale.

And below those names, centered between the two... Ashleigh Von Cannondale.

"They should have made it a little bigger," Ashleigh said, pointing down at the wall underneath the plaque. Her voice was different, none of the furious anger of her previous speeches. "Could have fit the part they left out: 'This gallery was paid for by a corporate raider who made all his billions buying out companies, selling all their assets to line his own pockets, and firing all the workers before bailing out and letting it all crash and burn.'" She spit on the plaque again. "Bastard."

It was starting to make sense to Alison. Ashleigh's rampant activism, her almost desperate need to spearhead positive change in the world. And her reluctance to mention her hometown the night before.

"Hey, it's okay," Alison said, moving to stand next to Ashleigh. She laid an arm around the shorter girl's shoulders. "You're not at all like your dad, I'm sure."

"Yeah, but I reaped the benefits, didn't I?" Ashleigh said, bitterness lacing her words. "All those years in that big mansion in Wyndham Hills, enjoying all the privileges his dirty money gave me. Stupid little girl not realizing all the suffering that was happening while she lived in the lap of luxury," She drove her fist forward, bashing her knuckles against the hard metal plaque and wincing at the impact.

"Ashleigh, listen to me. You were just a kid. You couldn't have possibly known. And even if you did, what could you have done?"

Ashleigh took several deep breaths, rubbing at the reddened skin on the back of her hand. "Those last few years were so miserable," she said. "Knowing what I knew and having to bite my tongue. Watching as my family preyed upon the working class and stripped them of their money and dignity. Just counting down the days until I could finally get out of that goddamn house and be done with those people." 

She looked at Alison, smiling for the first time since the two of them had met. "I guess I've been driving the rest of you nuts, huh? Always running off on one mission or another. But it's... it just feels so good to finally be free. To be able to fight for the causes I could only read about before I got here."

"No, I get it. But you _are_ free now. You've got your whole life ahead of you to try and change the world," Alison smiled back at Ashleigh. "Nobody's going to blame you if you take a little time to just hang out with us and have fun, you know? Capitalism is still going to be there for you to burn down tomorrow."

This made Ashleigh laugh. "Guess you're right," she said. She sounded different now, a hint of an upper-crust accent in her enunciation. Perhaps the "real" Ashleigh revealing herself a little, or at least the girl that she had been before she came to Ethridge. "Thanks, Alison. You're a true comrade."

"Hey, you want to see something?" Alison turned to the Von Cannondale Gallery dedication. Closing her mouth, she inhaled deeply through her nose, making a loud snorting sound. With a big wad of saliva and phlegm gathered up in the back of her throat, she pursed her lips and launched it onto the plaque, the chunky lump landing next to Ashleigh's spit stains with a wet splat.

"Ew, gross," Ashleigh squealed, barking out a laugh. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Alison smirked. "That's a Wellspring specialty, right there. What do you think?"

"I think it's perfect. You should take a picture to immortalize it."

"Oh, right," Alison said, remembering the scavenger hunt and pulling out her phone to take a quick snap. Hopefully, the folks in charge of the game didn't ask too many questions about Alison and Ashleigh's artistic contributions in the photo.

"Hey, Alison?" Ashleigh said, smile slowly fading. "Could you not spread this around too much?" Arching her brow, she gestured towards her own name on the plaque. "I mean, duh, it's going to get out eventually, but I don't want Tiana and everybody else to just think of me as some spoiled rich girl rebelling against Mom and Dad. I'd rather they get to know me a little first before the truth gets out. You know, so..." She stared at Alison, watching as her shoulders started to shake. "What, what's so funny?"

Alison put a hand up to her mouth to stifle the laugh she had been unable to hold back. "Nothing, just... well, turns out I'm getting pretty good at keeping secrets these days," she said. "Don't worry, Ashleigh. For now, it's just between us."

Ashleigh extended a fist, and Alison bumped it without hesitation. "Righteous," Ashleigh said. "I've got a few other things to handle, but shoot me a text if you guys are hanging out later. I promise not to run off this time."

Alison waved goodbye to Ashleigh, while pulling a pen out of her pocket to mark off "Von Cannondale Gallery dedication plaque" on the list. Two more things left to find.

Walking down the hallway back to the building's entrance, she spotted a dark-haired boy in a flannel shirt and glasses heading in the opposite direction, papers in his hand. "Hey, is the gallery plaque down that way?" he asked.

"Yeah, just over there," Alison pointed. "Hey, do you know where these other two items are on my list?"

She showed him her sheet, and he nodded. "Yeah, they're both next door in Rodriguez Hall. That one's on your right just inside the door, the other's up the stairs and past the statue," he said.

"Thanks. And good luck!" Alison said, walking past him.

As she reached the entrance, she could hear the boy's voice behind her. "What that hell? Who would do that?" She held up her list to hide the grin on her face.

* * *

With the instructions from the helpful competitor, Alison had her portion of the list finished within a few minutes. She checked her phone again for any updates from Harmony or Tiana.

Nothing from Harmony, but Tiana had sent something: "Hey, sorry, got tired of waiting. Was chatting with this hot guy and we're gonna chill for a bit back in my room. Here are my pics, let me know if I get to score twice today."

A winky face at the end. With all of her flirting and double entendres, Tiana was beginning to feel to Alison like the living embodiment of a winking emoji.

Reaching the section of the quad where their group had split up earlier, Alison searched around for any sign of Harmony, or the boys coming back after their shopping trip. But nobody was around. Phone still in hand, she sent a message to Harmony – "How's the list going?" – and took a seat on a nearby bench.

After a few minutes of waiting, she caught sight of Harmony, her bright floral dress visible even halfway down the quad.

But she wasn't heading towards Alison. Instead she was talking to...

Alison jumped to her feet as she recognized him. Mack, the groundskeeper who had been staring at them earlier, was saying something to Harmony. It was hard to tell at this distance, but from his body language, it didn't look like a friendly conversation.

And, while Alison watched in horror, Mack grabbed Harmony by the wrist, roughly pulling her behind one of the campus buildings and out of sight.

Alison stared around the quad frantically, wondering if anyone else had seen it happen. But everyone else was going about their business, the brief struggle escaping their notice.

What should she do? The thought of confronting the well-built stranger by herself sent her into frantic shivers. But if this did have something to do with Harmony's true identity, then bringing someone else into the situation could potentially reveal her secret.

There was no other option. Alison had to do this on her own. Her stomach was churning and she could feel herself break out in a cold sweat, but this was no time for her to wimp out. Harmony was in danger, and Alison was the only person who could help her.

She moved down the quad at a jog. Some of the other students in the area gave her curious stares, so Alison covered by holding up her scavenger hunt checklist, trying to look confused as she scanned the general area for some missing item.

Reaching the place where Mack had led Harmony, back behind the main dining hall, Alison crept around the corner, catching her breath from her dash across campus. She found herself in a loading dock area, several large metal doors on the wall for SCaLEs to park and have their cargo unloaded. But no sign of Harmony or Mack.

As Alison moved along the wall, stepping as softly as possible, she could hear voices. A deep male voice which must have been Mack, followed by Harmony's unmistakable melodic tone. Alison strained to hear their conversation, but neither of them were speaking in a language that she could understand. And while she was hardly an expert, the harsh sounds they were both making didn't sound like any foreign tongue Alison had ever heard, either. So it _was_ something to do with the aliens.

Even without understanding the words, Alison felt like she could tell the tenor of their conversation just from their tone of voice. Mack sounded stern, the strange syllables of his language coming out clipped and harsh. Meanwhile, Harmony seemed to be trying to calm him down. Her tone was apologetic and... frightened?

A few feet more, and Alison spotted them on the other side of a dumpster. Harmony's back was against the wall, and Mack was leaning in close to her, finger up and pointing in her face. Harmony made a move to duck around Mack and leave, but he firmly slapped his palm against the wall behind her, blocking her exit with his arm.

 _She's in danger._ _I have to save her._

Alison had never done anything like this before. The very thought of violence made her ill. But seeing this guy threatening Harmony made her blood boil. Scanning around the general area for some sort of weapon, she spotted a loose piece of wood. Crude club in hand, she crept up on Mack from behind, trying to keep herself from trembling as she readied herself to attack.

She stepped quietly, neither Mack or Harmony noticing her approach. Drawing in her breath, Alison raised the heavy piece of wood above her head, gripping it with both hands. As she moved into position behind the muscular man keeping Harmony captive, she mustered all of her strength – such as it was – and swung the board downward, aiming it for the back of Mack's skull.

Harmony spotted her mid-attack, and her eyes went wide. "Alison, no!"

Alison tried to stop, but it was too late. The board was already in motion.

But just before the hunk of wood struck the back of his skull, Mack spun around, faster than any human could have managed. His mud-stained hand shot up, grabbing hold of Alison's incoming strike. The wood made a loud smacking sound as it hit his palm with bruising force, but Mack's face showed no sign of pain from the impact. Alison gasped at the power of his grip, as the muscular man yanked the weapon out of her hand with a casual tug.

"Who are you?" Mack said to her, no longer speaking in his alien tongue. He tossed aside the board and took a menacing step in Alison's direction, eyes narrowed. "Are you with them?"

"Mack, it's okay. She's my friend," Harmony said, rushing around him and taking Alison by the shoulders. "Alison, what are you doing here?"

Alison blinked, looking between Harmony and Mack. "I... I saw him pull you back here. It looked like he was going to hurt you, Harmony," she said. "I thought maybe he was one of those enemies of Nor you were telling me about."

"'Enemies of Nor?'" Mack said, narrowing his eyes at Harmony. "So she knows?"

"I didn't mean to tell her," Harmony said, taking her hands away from Alison and turning to Mack. "It was an accident."

"Great, just perfect." Gritting his teeth, Mack slammed the back of his fist against the nearby dumpster, Alison jolting at the loud bang. "Dammit, this is exactly what I was saying to you! This whole plan of yours, doing your Acclimation on this planet... it's just too risky. No arguments, I'm sending word back to Nor to have them beam you back home."

"So... he's one of you, Harmony?" Alison asked. "Another Norian?" she stared at Mack, thinking back to Harmony's true form at Club Crimson. She tried to picture the well-built gardener with blue skin and pitch-black eyes.

"Yes, he's one of those deep cover agents I was telling you about," Harmony said. She saw Mack glaring at her and sighed. "It's fine, Mack. We can trust her."

"Right, of course," Mack said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "The person you've known for, what, a day or so now? Sure, let's just tell her everything, what could it possibly hurt?" He placed a hand on his forehead, staring at the ground. "You stupid little girl. I never would have shown you pictures of this place, if I'd known it would make you do something this reckless."

Alison looked back at Harmony, thinking back to their conversation from earlier in the day. "That photo on your phone, the sunset in Avon Lake," she said, starting to put the pieces together. She turned to Mack. "You're the one who took that photo, aren't you? You two knew each other back on Nor?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Mack said. "I served with her father for several years, spent a lot of time around him and his family. Seemed harmless at the time to show his curious daughter a few interesting images from other planets. So I suppose we're both idiots, then." He looked over at Harmony, his stern tone softening just a little. "You really kept that picture I gave you, after all these years?"

"Of course. I could never delete something so beautiful," Harmony said. Setting her jaw, she took a step forward. Standing up straight, she stared her fellow Norian in the eye. "Mack, I'm not leaving. I'm going to stay and finish my Acclimation on this planet."

"You're insane. You really think you can stay hidden from these people?" Mack shot a finger in Alison's direction, voice turning gruff and frustrated again. "You've already revealed it to one of them. How many more are going to know before you're here for even one week, let alone four years?"

"It... no one else will find out, Mack," Harmony said, her confidence wavering a little in the face of Mack's agitation. "I promise I..."

"Hey, hey," Alison said, moving to stand between the two of them. "Harmony made a mistake, okay? But she's not doing this on her own anymore. I'm going to help her. Teach her about my people and how to blend in on this planet." She walked back to stand beside Harmony, looking determined as she put her arm around her roommate's shoulders. "The two of us working together, there's no way anything's going to happen."

Harmony smiled at Alison with gratitude, before furrowing her brow to look back at Mack. "She's right. I know I can do this. That _we_ can do this, together. Just give us a chance and-"

"Dammit, you don't even know what's actually going on here, do you?" Mack interrupted, green eyes blazing. "This isn't just about your goddamn Acclimation. You think I'm here on a vacation? There's more going on than you-"

"Enough!" Harmony exclaimed, the force of her response making both Alison and Mack jump back in shock. Taking a firm stance, she balled up her fists and met Mack's eye. "I'm not a child anymore, Mack, so stop treating me like one. I knew the risks when I came here and I did it anyway. I'm not going back, and that's final." She turned to Alison. "Come on... we've got a scavenger hunt to win."

Harmony stormed off, leaving Alison alone with Mack. Alison made to follow Harmony, before Mack stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said, his voice level and calm. "Alison, right? You need to make her see reason, Alison. She doesn't want to listen to me, but looks like she trusts you. I'm sure she told you what a disaster it would be if your people were to find out she's here." When Alison nodded, he looked over to the edge of the building, where Harmony turned and vanished. "Well, that's the least of her worries. She has no idea how dangerous it really is for her. There are things going on that..." he turned back to Alison, cutting himself off. "Forget it. Just... be careful. Harmony may not believe it, but I'm looking out for her here. And if she knew what was good for her... she'd be on the next transit beam back home."

Mack left, heading the opposite way as Harmony, leaving Alison to stand alone by the rusted old dumpster.

Great. Her first term hadn't even started, and already Alison was getting wrapped up in intergalactic espionage. So much for going light on extracurriculars her freshman year.


	2. Lies

The distance from the curb outside of the house to the front door was forty-three steps. More than enough time for Ember to get her story straight.

"'Mom, it was so horrible...' no, not horrible. 'Mom, it's awful! They came and said... they announced at school today that Annie Longman was... that Annie's dead!' No, no, too strong. Need to sound like I'm in denial. 'Mom... Annie's gone! I can't believe she's actually gone! I know I shouldn't have left school, but...' no, don't acknowledge your guilt. 'I just couldn't concentrate on school thinking about what happened. Can you call the principal and let her know... tell her that I need the rest of the day off? It's just... just so tragic! Why is this world so cruel?' Yeah, good capper, she'll eat that shit up."

Ember paused at the front door. Considered summoning up some tears. No, too much. She barely knew Annie, after all. Still, a few sniffles wouldn't hurt. She rubbed at her eyes to bring out the redness, before pulling out her key and letting herself into the house.

"Hello?" she called out as she stepped into the foyer. "It's me."

Stepping into the foyer from the study, vacuum cleaner in hand, Lucinda jumped in surprise at seeing Ember walking in. "Oh, Miss Ember," the young Malevankan maid said. "You are home early today?"

"Yeah. Long, sad story," Ember said. "Is my mom here?"

Lucinda nodded. "She is in the office, Miss Ember. On the phone."

Probably school calling, letting her parents know that she had run off in the middle of classes. Ember forced a casual smile. "Cool, thanks. And hey... you had a chance to look at my room yet?"

"Yes, Miss Ember. All cleaned up," she said, taking a quick glance around the foyer before lowering her voice slightly. "No more smell in there, I made sure."

"Right on. Thanks again, and let your cousin know I'll be hitting him up for a restock next week," Ember gave her a wink. "Definitely a fan of his gardening skills."

"I will tell him, Miss Ember," Lucinda said. "Have a good day."

Ember turned away, heading towards one of the tall archways on the way to her mother's home office. On her way, she glanced up at one of the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, that same image in her head as always of the massive thing tumbling down and hitting the ornate tile floors with a satisfying crash.

Geez, this place was such an eyesore. Even a year after they had moved to this house, Ember still hated how pretentiously gaudy it all was. Silly, but she found herself missing their old house back on Blaine Street. Yeah, their new place was much bigger, but the Blaine Street place felt like an actual home, at least. Not some art museum converted into a living space.

Well, it could have been worse. After Dad got that big promotion and was raking in the bucks, he had taken them to look at a couple of the lower end houses up in Wyndham Hills. Thankfully, Mom had talked him out of that one, with the excuse that Ember would have to switch schools if they moved to a different city on the Network. In the end, they had compromised, buying the most expensive place they could find in Wellspring. Just had to show off that huge new bank account, after all. _God, if I become as obsessed with money as my parents are when I get old, just shoot me in the head. Put me out of my misery.  
_

Pausing at the door into the office, Ember ran through her speech one more time in her head. "Alright, enough foreplay," she said under her breath once she was sure she had the wording perfect, hand on the doorknob. "Let's get busy."

Her mother was sitting at her glass-topped desk, phone receiver in her hands and concerned expression on her face. She glanced up from behind her PC at Ember's entrance. "Okay, I understand," she said to the caller. "No, she just walked in."

Ember sat down in a nearby chair, looking around the room in a way she calculated to be as casual as possible. Her eyes scanned the books on the shelves behind her mother's head, placed with the front covers facing outward rather than the spines. All the better for when the photographers came by to snap promotional pictures for the next installment of Lisa Jamison-Connolly's best-selling "The Queen's Assassin" series. The elaborately illustrated covers depicted Annalisa Tolwyn, heir to the throne of Nygard and deadliest killer in the kingdom, battling grimacing soldiers, scarred criminals, or her own deceitful cousins. No matter the enemy, the heroine of her mother's novels cut them all apart with her flashing dual blades.

"Flashing," that was the word that Ember remembered from her one time attempting to read one of her mother's novels. Over and over again, blades were flashing, or gleaming white teeth were flashing, or old, once-forgotten wounds of the past were flashing through Annalisa's troubled mind. Ember had stopped about a third of the way through. It just wasn't her style. She preferred horror, the cheesier the better. Always a laugh riot.

"Okay, thank you," Lisa was finishing up the call, a bit melancholy as she hung up the phone. Ugh, that look in her mom's eyes didn't bode well. Could be a big "I'm very disappointed in you, Ember," speech coming up. Time for Ember to give the performance of a lifetime.

Standing up from her tall-backed desk chair, Lisa walked around her desk to stand in front of her daughter. "Ember, that was your school calling," she announced, voice filled with ominous portent. Another phrase that showed up a couple of times in her books.

Raising herself up slowly to her feet, Ember took a deep breath. "Mom, it was so..." she began her performance.

Before she could finish, Lisa put out her arms, pulling her daughter into a warm embrace. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," she spoke softly into Ember's ear, gripping her tightly. "That poor girl, to go so young..."

"Yeah... it's pretty sad," Ember said. Not exactly the reaction she was expecting, but she could roll with it.

Pulling away, Lisa patted her daughter on the shoulders. "Well, at least your principal did the right thing and called off classes for the day."

"She did? Did... did do that, right," Ember said, surprised by the news but doing her best to recover. "Yeah, everybody was really broken up. Crying in the halls, it was a bad scene." Ember sniffled a little. Just a little, didn't want to go too hard, or her mom might insist on "having a talk" with her about death and living your life to the fullest and all that crap. God, Ember couldn't imagine anything more boring.

"Such a sad story. I can't even imagine what her parents must be going through. Was she a friend of yours?" Lisa gasped. "Oh, no, was Annie the one you stayed over with last night?"

"No, Mom, that was Melanie. Annie was the one they caught spray-painting the school sign last year."

"Oh," Lisa said. Her grief over the unfortunate death seemed somewhat dampened by Annie's delinquency. "Well, still, if you need to talk at all, just let us know, okay? We're always ready to listen."

"Thanks, Mom. But I think I'm just going to lay down in my room for a bit. Get my head straight, you know."

"Take all the time you need. Want me to give you a call when supper's ready?"

"Sure thing," Ember turned to leave, fighting back the urge to sigh in relief.

"Ember, you sure you don't need to talk?" Lisa asked as Ember put her hand on the doorknob. "You sound pretty down."

Ember shook her head, staring down at the floor sadly. Dammit, she had really been looking forward to giving that big speech. It was going to be one of her best performances ever, she just knew it. And then they had to ruin it by calling off school.

"It's fine, Mom," Ember said. "Just... thinking about life and stuff. Missed opportunities."

* * *

Bedroom door locked, Ember fell to her back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. What a messed-up day. Clingy one-night stands were one thing. Having one of them show up at your school to announce the death of one of your classmates... that was a new one, even for Ember.

Marielle standing up on that stage was a panty-wetting moment, for sure. And despite her best efforts, stealth still wasn't Ember's strong suit. She was pretty sure that Marielle had spotted her in the crowd, from the way the cop had started freaking out during her big "say nope to dope" speech.

Still, Ember calmed her nerves with the reminder that, if anyone had reason to worry, it was the venerable Detective Maxwell. She was the one who had been tongue-deep in a teenager the previous night, after all. Even if Marielle had spotted Ember, it was probably in her best interest to pretend she didn't.

Ember smirked to herself: maybe she should call Marielle back, just to see how she reacted. "Hey, would love to hang out again sometime. Maybe you could help me with my civics project after we get done eating each other out."

Whatever. It was over now. Rearranging herself on the mattress, Ember leaned her head back on the pillow. She shut her eyes, allowing herself to relax now that she was in the clear.

_"Well, I should get going. See you at school tomorrow!"_

_Shut up,_ she chided her subconscious. Rolling onto her side, she stared at the posters fastened to the wall with sticky putty. Various young pop stars and actors that Ember had picked pretty much at random, the kinds of boys that girls her age were supposed to be into. Perfect for making her parents think she was into boys like that... or boys at all.

Her eyes focused on a picture of Kyron Collins, the flamboyant caster slash singer in the middle of flinging some magic whatsits out at the crowd as he performed.

_He had been there that night. At Club Crimson. Was Annie secretly a Familiar all this time? Because the guy she was with definitely wasn't. You remember that guy, right? Aka the last person to see Annie alive?_

Dammit, it wasn't her fault. So what if she had spotted Annie with some strange guy? Who said he had anything to do with her dying? Besides, the cops had to know about him, right? They're cops, they could always find these things out.

_Yeah, they're so observant, aren't they? So on-the-ball that they let high school students fool them into thinking they're sales managers or whatever._

No. She wasn't going to tell anyone. Because if she did, the police were going to have a lot more questions for her. Like what a girl her age was doing at Club Crimson that night, and where she managed to get a fake ID to buy all those drinks for herself and that horny MILF detective. Once that stuff got out into the open and back to her parents... well, the party would be over for Ember Marie Connolly. No more being able to convince Mom and Dad that she was spending the night with friends, or on an overnight camping trip with that scout troop she had made up. Nope, she'd probably be grounded until she was 18, and that was probably best-case scenario.

And for what? Who was Annie to Ember? Just some random girl at school. Why should Ember mess up her own fun just for some weird punk she barely knew?

As if in answer to her question, she heard it in her head. Rayne McDowell, wailing like a banshee after destroying Wellspring's monument to athletic achievement and creatine abuse with one swing of a flagpole. That scream she had let out made Ember grit her teeth just remembering it. Flipping to her back again, she pounded a fist at her side, taking out her frustration on the mattress below her.

"Oh, screw her. What do I care?" Ember said to herself. "Let her whine all she wants. Isn't going to bring Annie back from the dead. And neither is telling anyone about that guy from last night. Just forget about it."

Times like this, she really wished she had someone to talk to. Definitely couldn't tell her parents about all this crap. And the girls at school... just the worst. So obsessed with boys and fashion and who was going to what party and ohmigod can you believe what she said to him? The only time she ever interacted with them was when she sold them test answers, or bribed them to cover for her on the nights she would hit the clubs. Those simple-minded bitches weren't good for much of anything else.

And as far as the guys... well, there _was_ Casey, that sophomore in her homeroom. That dude seemed alright, not a goody-two-shoes like his friend Elle. Maybe she should look him up online. Send him a DM to thank him for not ratting her out about writing Melanie's paper, and see if he could handle a few more secrets.

Wait, no, that was a stupid idea. She was going to spill all of her secrets to Casey Maxwell, emphasis on Maxwell? _So, hey, last night was pretty crazy. Picked up this hot older chick and banged her all night long and... whoops, turns out it was your aunt! Crazy, right?_

Yeah, no more Maxwells in her life right now. One was more than enough.

Well, she did know _one_ person she could talk to who would make her feel better: her old friend Mary Jane.

She was crouched beside her bed, dialing in the combination of the lockbox holding all of her "private amusements," when she heard Lisa calling up the stairs. "Ember... could you come down to the living room for a minute?"

Mom sure was a master of timing. Ember wanted to ask if it could wait until later, but this particular summons had the grave, "non-negotiable" tone of voice to it.

Great, time to have a long sit-down about poor, dead Annie. Between sending Ember on this unexpected guilt trip, revealing her identity to Marielle, and now this? That dead bitch had a lot to answer for.

"Coming!" Ember called out, shoving her secret stash back under the bed. Probably for the best. Lucinda wouldn't be happy if Ember stank up the bedroom again, right after the maid had taken the time to Febreze away her last smoky excursion.

Maybe Ember could come up with some excuse to head out to the North End tonight, up where that shit was legal. Pick up some twenty-something hipster with those sexy thick-framed glasses and an untrimmed mound to get her fingers tangled in, and have a fun night clouding her brain with enough lust and THC to forget Annie and her weepy friend Rayne.

Getting herself back in character, Ember put on a mopey expression as she headed down the stairs. _Gee, Mom, thanks for talking this through with me. I really appreciate it. Think I'm going to head out to the library and look up some books about the grieving process. Might be out late, but I'll give you a call._

She stepped into the living room. Mom was sitting on the couch, talking to...

Ember froze in the entry to the living room, struggling to keep her expression neutral. _You've got to be fucking kidding me._

"There she is," Lisa said to their visitor, drumming her fingers on the arm of the couch nervously as she turned to her daughter. "Honey, this is Detective Maxwell from the Network Police Authority. She says she has a few questions for you."

Marielle stood up from the couch, turning with an oh-so-casual smile to Ember. "I appreciate the introduction, Mrs. Connolly. But Ember and I are already well acquainted." She paused, fixing Ember with a piercing stare. "From school earlier today, when I came by to speak. You remember, right?"

"Uh, yeah..." Ember said. "Hard to forget something like that. Still hasn't really sunk in, you know, Annie being gone."

"Well, I appreciate this is a difficult time for you, Ember," Marielle said, playing it cool in front of Lisa. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Miss Longman."

"Detective, as I was saying before, my daughter barely even knew Annie," Lisa said. "Ember will be happy to cooperate with your investigation, but I doubt you'll find out anything useful to your case."

"It's just a few questions, very routine," Marielle said, keeping her attention focused on Ember as she spoke to Lisa. "As long as Ember is... completely honest, this shouldn't take long at all. From all the evidence we've gathered, Miss Longman's death is just a tragic, drug-induced suicide, but..."

Lisa let out a guffaw. "Well, then Ember _definitely_ won't be able to help you, detective. We don't tolerate drug use, not in this house. Right, Ember?"

"Yeah, never touch the stuff," Ember responded, feeling extremely relieved that she hadn't toked up before heading downstairs. Her mom may not have been able to recognize that distinct bud aroma, but a veteran cop like Marielle probably could have smelled it on her a mile away.

"Well, regardless, we're just covering all our bases," Marielle said. "Is there someplace private where Ember and I can talk, Mrs. Connolly?"

"Now, just wait a minute," Lisa protested, sitting up straight. "She can answer your questions perfectly well right here. If you're planning to interrogate the poor girl... maybe we should have an attorney present."

Marielle turned to Lisa. "There's nothing to worry about, ma'am. But some of the questions I want to ask... well, they might be the sort of thing that a teenage girl would be uncomfortable discussing with one of her parents around. Trust me, your daughter isn't in any sort of trouble." Glancing over her shoulder at Ember, she added. "From a legal standpoint, at least."

Lisa still looked uncertain, so Ember chimed in. "It's fine, Mom. I can handle myself." Looked like this was going to happen, one way or another. Best to just tear off the bandage and get it over with.

"Okay, just... if you feel uncomfortable, come get me," Lisa said. "I'll have a lawyer here within the hour." She directed that last comment to Marielle, narrowing her eyes as she delivered the warning.

"Why don't we go up to your bedroom, Ember?" Marielle said. "Should be nice and quiet up there."

_Really? All this trouble got started with the two of us in a bed together, Marielle. You're really into tempting fate, I see._

"Uh, sure, it's right up this way," she said out loud, trying her best not to make eye contact with Marielle as she led the woman on a long, awkward walk, up the curving stairs to the second floor.

Once they were both inside the bedroom, Ember shut and locked the door. "Sooooo...." she said once they were definitely alone, putting on her most charming smile. "I can totally explain."

Marielle sat down on the side of Ember's bed, folding her hands in her lap. She stared up at Ember and waited.

Ember shifted around uncomfortably, snapping her fingers as she searched for a story to get her out of this.

_Sounds crazy, but hear me out. I'm not a high school student... I'm an undercover WPD cop, rooting out drug use in Wellspring schools. And that woman down there... she's not my mother, she's actually my handler with the department. You should probably get out of here before my cover gets blown, and some bad hombres come around to whack me. Who? Oh, the... the cartels, you know. Which cartels? Um... the drug ones?_

Throwing up her hands, she gave Marielle a shrug. "Yeah, I got nothing. Um... sorry?"

Marielle's face tightened. "'Sorry.' You tricked me into going to bed with you, and didn't think to mention that you were still in high school. And all you've got for me is 'sorry?'"

"I'm... _very_ sorry? Super duper sorry with a cherry on top?"

This earned Ember a withering glare. "This isn't the time for jokes," Marielle said. "Do you realize how much trouble I could get into if any of this got out?"

" _You_ could get into trouble? What about me?" Ember asked. "Or do you think I'm sharing stories around the dinner table about my wild nights in Fortuna, drinking and picking up forty-year-old police detectives to bone?"

Marielle's eyes narrowed, as she crossed her arms and gave Ember a sour frown. "I'm only 38, for the record."

"Whatever. Point is, neither of us want this to get out, right? So why did you even turn up here, anyway? And how _did_ you find me?"

Marielle shook her head in disbelief. "Seriously? With a name like 'Ember,' you really didn't think about coming up with an alias or something? Took me about ten seconds going through the school records to find your address."

Ember leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well, I was dumb, okay? Back when I got my fake ID, the guy asked me what to put on it, and I blanked and just gave my real name. And that shit's expensive, so now I'm kinda stuck with it. Can't go around telling everyone I'm 'Janet' or something when I'm flashing the bartender a card with 'Ember Connolly' written on it." She gave Marielle a crooked smile as she added. "And besides... not as much fun getting a lady off if she's just gonna be screaming out someone else's name, you know?"

"Please, don't remind me," Marielle said, rubbing at her temples with the tips of her index and middle fingers. "I really should have known better, shouldn't I? All that crap about lucky hats and living in convents and 'Moments.' You were full of shit right from the start."

"Yeah, well, lesson learned, I guess," Ember said. "Seriously, though, why are you here? Think we've established at this point that neither of us are itching for anyone to know about what we did last night. So why show up at my door like this if it's just going to cause more headaches?" She ran a hand through her dark hair. "Just had to see me one more time, check if I was as sexy as you remembered?"

"Hey, enough of that. Believe it or not, this is actually police business." Marielle glanced away for a moment. "Well... mostly." She turned back, going into serious detective mode. "Look, we both know you were in Fortuna last night. And the girl who died, Annie... she jumped off of Leipziger Bridge. So I've got two teenagers from the same high school, both in the same city on the same night, both drug users..."

"Hey, wait a sec," Ember said, pushing off from the wall and standing up straight. "What makes you think that I-"

Marielle cut her off, gesturing around the room. "Air fresheners? Scented candles? Seriously, Ember? That was old hat back when I was in high school. Might as well put up a neon sign, capital letters saying, 'I SMOKE POT IN HERE.'"

"What, a girl can't enjoy the fine aroma of a lilac garden without getting pegged as some sort of stoner?" Ember said, putting her fists on her hips. "That's profiling right there, detective."

"You're unbelievable," Marielle said, a smile creeping onto her face. "How in the hell did I let myself fall for you?" She went pale, quickly adding, "Fall for your bullshit, I mean."

Ember sat down beside Marielle on the bed, giving her a quick pat on the leg. "Hey, don't freak out about it too much. You're definitely not the first. Just my curse to suffer in life, ladies get one look at me and they can't keep away."

"Shut up, you're not that attractive," Marielle said, shooting a furtive glance down at Ember's body and biting her lower lip. "Dammit, we're getting sidetracked here. Look, just tell me if you saw Annie last night or not? Let's get that out of the way, so we can put all of this mess behind us."

Ember turned her eyes away from Marielle. Shifted restlessly on the side of the bed. Looked down to play with a sore spot at the side of one of her fingernails.

"Ember?"

"No," Ember said. "I didn't-"

_"Well, I should get going. See you at school tomorrow!"_

"-see Annie last night. I was at Club Crimson the whole night, and I-"

_"Ember? What's going on? Why am I dressed like this?"_

"-definitely don't think that Annie would be caught dead in-"

_"I regret to inform you that... that your classmate Annie Longman... passed away last night."_

"-a place like that."

Ember stared at the floor, taking deep breaths. She spotted one of her knees starting to bounce and pushed her palm down against it. _Stop it. Stop thinking about it._

"Ember... there's something you're not telling me," Marielle said.

"No... it's like I said. I didn't..." Ember swallowed. "...didn't see Annie that night."

_Rayne is screaming. Blood dripping from the cuts on her arms. Eye-shadow tears painting black lines down her cheeks._

Dammit, why was this so hard? She lied all the time. Fooled so many people, over and over again. Why couldn't she do this? Why did she keep thinking about Annie? And Rayne, crying out in front of a wrecked trophy case.

It wasn't her fault. None of this was her fault. She had no reason to feel guilty about any of it.

So why couldn't she convince herself of that? Why couldn't she lie to herself?

Marielle placed a hand on Ember's shoulder, trying to get her attention back. "Ember, you can tell me. If you know something about what happened to Annie..."

She needed to do something. Distract Marielle, keep her from asking any more questions. Ember looked back over at the detective, stared into her angular brown eyes as if the answer to her dilemma was somewhere inside.

And after a moment, she realized... it was. The answer had been in front of her all along.

"Ember, what..."

Ember cut off her question with a kiss.

Marielle was stiff at first, not expecting the sudden press of Ember's mouth against hers. But after a moment, Ember thought she could feel the older woman's resistance waver, Marielle leaning her head to the side to allow Ember easier access to her lips.

Eventually, Marielle came to her senses, drawing her mouth away from Ember's. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Ember, you know that we can't..."

"I... I couldn't help myself," Ember said, biting her lip and staring at Marielle with half-lidded eyes. "It's been all I could think about, ever since I saw you again. I know it's wrong. That it's crazy to think that you and I could ever have something between us, after all the lies I told you. But even if we never see each other again after today, I just had to kiss you, one last time."

"Ember, I... this isn't..." Marielle was stunned to near-speechlessness. Good, exactly what Ember was aiming for.

The way she figured it, the next few minutes could go one of two ways. In one scenario, Marielle had enough self-control to know that she should leave. That sticking around was only going to lead to trouble, and not a single answer to any of those annoying questions about Annie.

But after several moments passed and Marielle remained seated, her chest heaving and her face flushed as she stared across the bed, it dawned on Ember that the older woman was about to go for option number two. A suspicion confirmed when Marielle moved in towards her in a rush, arms wrapping around Ember's shoulders, and the warmth of her lips finding Ember's again.

Ember's hand drifted up to the back of Marielle's neck, pulling her in tight and holding her in place. Marielle's hands pressed into Ember's back, the older woman clinging to Ember as if separation from her was death.

Ember could feel her heart start to pound in her chest, a warm tingle spreading down from her chest to her lower regions. Even if this had started as a distraction, she had to admit that kissing the older woman again felt... good. Memories of the night before, Marielle's warm flesh pressing into hers, their fingers and tongues finding every last sensitive spot on each other and make them all sing. But now that it looked like there was going to be a round 2... maybe there were a few spots they had missed.

Marielle's rough kiss turned even harder, filled with a desperate intensity that took Ember by surprise. _How long had she been holding this back? Thinking about how much she wanted me, even knowing who I really am?_ Ember felt Marielle's tongue probing outward and opened her lips slightly, allowing it entry into her warm, eager mouth.

Just when Ember was sure that the two of them were about to get down to business right there in her bedroom, Marielle pulled away again. "We can't do this," she said, heaving ragged breaths.

Ember tried to hide her disappointment. "You're right. This was crazy. I'm sorry I-"

"No, I mean... we can't do this _here_ ," Marielle said, giving Ember a wicked smile. "Not with your mother downstairs wondering why it's taking me so long to... interrogate you. You got any plans for tonight?"

Ember cocked her head. "Nothing that can't be canceled. What are you thinking, naughty lady?"

"Well, Ember, I'm glad you asked," Marielle said, putting a hand down to casually rest on Ember's thigh. "I was thinking I'd go down and have a talk with your mother. Ask if she'd give permission for you to observe some NPA operations after hours tonight. Since you expressed an interest in police work during our interview."

"Yes, I'm definitely interested in putting in a little work on some police," Ember said, batting her eyes. "And these operations of yours... I'm guessing we're going to be doing a little undercover work tonight? Maybe back at your apartment?"

"See, you _are_ a natural detective," Marielle said. She kissed Ember again, fully surrendered now to their illicit passion. Pulling away, she looked up at the ceiling. "Shit, I must be losing my mind, getting involved with a damn teenager." She gave Ember a hopeful look. "Hey, when's your next birthday?"

"Next month, the 13th. Why?"

Marielle let out her breath. "Oh, okay. That's not so bad, then. Just a few weeks until it's not really an issue."

Ember cocked her head to the side. "Well, a few weeks plus 12 months, give or take."

"You're... you're only sixteen? But aren't you a junior?"

Ember shrugged. "Got skipped ahead back in grade school. Just too damn smart for my own good."

"Oh, my God," Marielle said, falling back onto Ember's bed. "I had sex with a sixteen-year-old. And I'm going to do it again, dammit. This is so messed up."

Laying down on her stomach beside Marielle, Ember propped herself up on her elbows. Putting her head above Marielle's, she stared down with a smirk. "Messed up in a fun way, though, right?"

Marielle let out a resigned sigh. "Goddamn it, when did girls your age get to be so damn sexy?" she asked, reaching up to stroke Ember's cheek.

"Never. It's just me, baby. Just me," Ember said. "So... your place tonight?"

There was one more brief moment of hesitation, but Ember could tell that Marielle's self-restraint had already lost this battle a long time ago. "Well, if there is a Hell, I guess I was already heading there for a bunch of other crap," Marielle said. "What's a few more sins to add to the pile? Yeah, my place tonight. 7:00 work for you?"

"I'll be there with bells on."

Marielle gave her a funny look. "You sure you're sixteen? The way you talk sometimes... you sound like a sixty-year-old." Shaking her head, she lifted herself off of Ember's bed and onto her feet with a grunt. "Guess I better go tell your mother that everything's fine, before she summons an army of lawyers down on my head."

"She'll do it, too. I remember when somebody was selling bootleg PDFs of her novels online. All that was left of the guy when the lawsuits were finished was a puff of green smoke."

Marielle walked to the bedroom door, pausing to turn around and stare down at Ember on the bed. "You know... this really wasn't how I expected this to play out when I came here," she said.

"Not what you expected... but what you hoped?" Ember asked, smirking at her. Sitting up on the side of her bed, she leaned back and pushed out her chest. "What you desperately prayed for in all of your twisted fantasies?"

Marielle rolled her eyes. "You're such a cocky little brat," she said, laughing despite herself. "But... dammit, you're right. All that stuff about questioning you about Annie... it was all bullshit. Just me giving myself an excuse to come here. I just had to see you again. Even knowing everything... I couldn't keep myself away. Should have known that you'd talk me into something crazy like this. Like last night in the bar. The moment you set your sights on me, there was only one way it was ever going to play out."

Marielle was wrong about that. There were plenty of ways that today could have gone. But of all the possible scenarios... Ember had to admit that this one wasn't turning out too badly for her. Yeah, she was playing with fire screwing around with a woman twice her age. So many ways this all could blow up on both of them.

But what's life without a little risk? And hey, it couldn't hurt to have a horny police detective eating out of the palm of her hand. And eating out of other things, too. Ember could definitely think of some ways to use her connection with Marielle to her advantage, should the need ever arise.

"See you tonight, Marielle," Ember said. "I'll be thinking about you every minute until then."

A lie, but Ember liked the smile that it put on Marielle's face.


	3. Esoteric

"Hey, Jace. Thinking we should redecorate a little back home, really liven up the place. You want I should ask her where she bought that? Maybe we can get a copy made for your office."

Jason didn't respond to Dylan, too busy staring at the painting behind Rebecca Madigan's desk. It had been the first thing he noticed when the lady at the front desk had led the two of them up here. "She's just coming out of a meeting, she should be with you shortly," the agreeable secretary had said, shooting her own nervous glance at the grimly colorful piece of "art" on the way out. _She sees that thing all the time, and it still freaks her out._

Beside him in the chairs in front of Madigan's desk, Dylan was singing something under his breath. It took Jason a second before he recognized it: a tune from some animated children's movie Jason remembered watching with Gina a lifetime ago. Was it a fish who had sang it? No, it was the talking lobster, that's who it was. Jason gave a light slap to Dylan's thigh, and was surprised to hear Dylan jump in his seat.

They sat in silence for a while, Jason scratching his chin and Dylan drumming his palms against his thighs. All while the painting stared down at them with red, hateful eyes. 

"She better get in here soon," Dylan finally spoke up again, "or I'm going to have to tear that thing down and burn it."

"Don't do that," Jason said, the first words he had spoken since they sat down. "You'd probably just make it mad."

Finally, mercifully, the door opened. In walked a familiar face, Jason and Dylan having seen a large headshot of the woman hanging up in the lobby when they had arrived. Definitely a much more attractive wall decoration than the one they were currently suffering.

Rebecca Madigan, CEO of the Ecological Protection Group, was an older woman, mid-forties if Jason were to guess. But she wore her years comfortably. Almost as comfortably as the gunmetal grey, wrinkle-free suit that covered almost every inch of her body, from the high collar at her neck to the long, tight skirt that went down below her knees. She smiled as she entered, a mirror image of her professional headshot downstairs. Jason wondered how many times a day the experienced executive had to deploy that particular, well-rehearsed expression.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," Rebecca said, stepping forward on tall heels to extend a well-manicured hand. "Rebecca Madigan."

Standing up, Jason took her hand, giving it a brief shake. "Jason Lovelace. Appreciate you taking the time to see us."

Rebecca looked around Jason, as Dylan lifted his blocky form out of his seat. Jason caught something in her dark brown eyes, a brief widening as she got a good look at his partner. It was a look he had seen many times before from their clients when they got their first sight of Dylan, most especially the ladies.

"Dylan Medeiros," he said in his deep baritone, shaking Rebecca's hand and giving her that wide smile of his that sent so many hearts aflutter.

"Wow, such a strong grip," Rebecca said, withdrawing her hand from Dylan's and flexing her fingers. "When they told me a pair of private detectives wanted to speak to me, can't say this is what I pictured."

"Well, I always say that Jace and me are the perfect pair," Dylan said, as he and Jason returned to their seats and Rebecca moved around behind her desk. "He takes care of the deduction-type stuff and me... well, I handle all the heavy lifting."

Rebecca let her eyes take a brief voyage down the hills and valleys of Dylan's dark brown countryside. When they returned from their vacation, the crooked smile on her face made it plain that it was a satisfying adventure. "Yes, you do seem very capable," she said, taking a seat behind her desk and folding her hands in front of her. "Apologies again for your wait. Thing they never tell you about saving the planet... it's a round-the-clock job, I'm afraid."

"We understand," Jason said. "We'll try our best not to take up too much of your time, Ms. Madigan."

He had a feeling Dylan would bring it up. The man had many positive qualities, but an abundance of tact was not one of them. And sure enough, Jason watched him gesture up to the wall behind Rebecca's head. "Besides, it gave us a chance to admire this gorgeous artwork," he said. "My partner was just saying how much he loves it, weren't you, Jace?"

Rebecca looked over her shoulder. "You're joking, I'm sure," she said, not sounding offended at Dylan's sarcastic comment. "Trust me, I know that it's... a bit off-putting. But it holds a great deal of significance to me." She turned her attention to Jason. "I don't suppose you're familiar with the legend of the Bantay Tubig, Mr. Lovelace?"

"Can't say that I am," Jason said, reluctantly focusing his attention back on the painting.

"I'm not surprised. It's local folklore from where I was born, doesn't really spread far from our tiny little island," Rebecca said. "But when I was a little girl, my grandmother used to tell me so many stories about them." Swiveling in her office chair, she pointed at the pillars in the painting, round and smooth columns with windows filled with yellow light running up each of them in an ascending spiral. "Deep beneath the ocean, farther down than any human could survive, there were huge cities. Built not by hand, but with the magic of the sea gods. And in those cities lived the protectors of the ocean, the Bantay Tubig."

She pointed to a large structure in the back, the painter having rendered the castle-like edifice as somewhat obscured in the hazy ocean waters. "The rulers of the Bantay Tubig, the Kataw, live in beautiful palaces, decorated with the gold and jewels they plunder from sunken pirate ships. The Kataw look a lot like us, Grandma would say. Other than them having gills like a fish, you would never know if a kataw was standing right next to you." She glanced over at the detectives. "Which was how they got you. On those occasions when they would leave their underwater palaces, they would pretend to be stranded fishermen, calling out to passing ships for assistance. If any sailors were foolish enough to trust them and sail closer... the Kataw would use their magical control over the ocean waters to send the human vessel plunging down to the depths."

"Then there are the Sirena." Rebecca continued, pointing to several humanoid forms on the painting, human torsos being propelled through the water by fish-like tails. "You probably know them as mermaids, but the way my grandmother told the stories, they weren't exactly the friendly sorts that you're used to. Not much falling in love with shipwrecked sailors and longing to walk on the surface in Grandma's tales. No, in her stories, the Sirena loved nothing more than finding ways to murder any humans who strayed into their waters. Either using their hypnotic songs to compel fishermen into jumping overboard, or luring their boats to crash onto the rocks, dragging the survivors down to sacrifice to their gods."

Jason shifted in his seat. Despite these legends of Rebecca's homeland being so grim, she was recounting them all with a bizarre excitement. This whole thing was all a big waste of time, but Jason wasn't sure he wanted to see how Rebecca would react if he cut her off in the middle of her gruesome fairy tale.

"And those friendly fellas in the front?" Dylan said to Rebecca, pointing up at the painting. "Who are those guys?"

 _Don't encourage her,_ Jason thought to himself. Still, Dylan was calling attention to the most disturbing part of the painting, the element of it that had kept him staring at it ever since they had walked into Rebecca's office.

In the foreground were several green-skinned creatures, fierce expression on their noseless faces. They seemed to stare directly out of the canvas, their all-red eyes filled with malice towards the viewer, their lips parted to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Long, gnarled fingers tipped with needle-like claws, finned feet paddling at the water around them, and long tails decorated with sharp spines completed their ghoulish appearances. Not exactly the sort of art you would expect in a professional office setting. More suited for a Halloween house of horrors.

"Ah, yes, the Siyokoy," Rebecca said, turning to smile up at the disturbing image. "The stories Grandma would tell of what _they_ would do with any humans who were unlucky enough to find themselves in their waters... well, let's just say that they have a particular taste for human flesh. Whenever there was news of some sort of shipwreck, sailors who died at sea, Grandma would always say something about 'the hungers of the Siyokoy' being satisfied."

"Those are some... interesting bedtime stories," Jason remarked. "Did you do something to make your grandma mad at you or something? Rip her favorite doily or something? Can't imagine why she'd want to give a little girl nightmares like that."

Rebecca gave him that well-practiced smile again. "You sound just like my mother, Mr. Lovelace. She certainly didn't approve of Grandma telling me those old legends. But they never frightened me. I always found them fascinating. The idea of a world going on beneath the waves, a whole society of people who we never see, unless we're about to die... well, I think about it a lot these days."

She gestured towards the monitor of her PC. "When I see the reports of what we're doing to the oceans, the things we're dumping down there and the damage it's doing to our planet, I always think about the Bantay Tubig. And if those legends were actually true, and we are destroying their homes under the sea... well, I can't help but wonder if the day might come where they have their revenge on us." She made another gesture back at the painting. "I suppose that's why I commissioned this. As a reminder to myself of the dangers we face if we continue on our current path." She smiled bashfully. "Figuratively, of course. Not that I literally expect the Siyokoy to come to the surface and eat us all."

"Damn, I hope not," Dylan said. "Hate to have one of those things sinking its teeth into me just for dropping a beer bottle off the side of that Eagle Bay booze cruise." He looked past Rebecca at the painting, giving the snarling fish-men a quirky smile. "It was an accident, guys, I swear!"

Raising one of her hands up, Rebecca played idly with one of her long locks of black hair as she laughed at Dylan's joke. "Oh, I don't think you have anything to worry about. They're all just legends, after all." She cleared her throat. "But I'm sure you didn't come here to hear me babble on about old folklore. Let's discuss the real reason for your visit."

"Yes, I don't know how much your secretary told you, Ms. Madigan," Jason said, doing his best to put the stories of man-eating fish people out of his head. "But our client has asked us to look into the disappearance of Merlin Waters." He pulled out his tape recorder. "Do you mind?" Rebecca shook her head, and Jason started the recording. "So, Ms. Madigan, tell us how you came to know Merlin Waters."

"As an enemy, believe it or not," Rebecca said. "Well, 'enemy' is probably too strong of a word. More of a... professional rival, you might say. Up until five or so years ago, I was running the Climate Action Foundation. Grassroots organization, focusing on a lot of the same issues facing our planet that the EPG does today. Of course, we got started a lot earlier than they did, almost ten years before Merlin started his own group. In a perfect world, our two organizations could have been working together."

"Sounds like that didn't happen, though," Dylan remarked.

Rebecca nodded. "It came down to one major difference in the end: the EPG operated out of the Network, and we didn't. You know how it is: if it doesn't happen on the Network, it might as well not have happened at all. So Merlin and the EPG got all the headlines on the Midpoint homepage... and all the funding as a result. We never had a chance of competing with that, and in the end, the Climate Action Group just ran out of money."

Jason nodded. "And so you came to the EPG."

"Well, more like the EPG came to us," Rebecca said. "Turned out that Merlin Waters _was_ paying attention to the Climate Action Foundation, even if the rest of the world wasn't. He came to our offices five years ago with a very generous merger offer. Brought in not just me, but most of the remaining Foundation staff as well. Guess he knows talent when he sees it."

"Definitely, if they put you in charge of things here," Dylan said. "Still... had to sting a little, right? Merlin sucks up all the press, and then comes strolling in with his big checkbook to buy up everything you worked so hard to build? It was me, I'd probably be a little pissed at the guy."

Leaning back in her chair, Rebecca folded her hands in her lap. "I won't lie. There was a brief period where I did feel... a little resentful of him. But the work we do, in the end it isn't about personal glory or fame. It's about keeping this planet preserved for future generations. And given the choice between barely keeping the lights on back with the Foundation, and the good that I've been able to do as head of the EPG... even if I had the chance to, I wouldn't change a thing."

"Good point. You running the biggest environmental group on the Network, got your face up front there... seems like you're doing pretty good, Ms. Madigan," Dylan said.

The smile Rebecca gave Dylan then was quite different from the one in her CEO headshot. As was the brief glimpse Jason caught of her teeth grazing against her lower lip. "Oh, no need to be so formal. Rebecca, I insist."

_Didn't say that when **I** called her "Ms. Madigan." Guess I need bigger biceps to earn the "Rebecca" privilege._

"So, you get brought into the EPG five years ago," Jason said, pulling Rebecca's attention away from his partner's impressive physique. "What were your impressions of Merlin Waters back then?"

Rebecca brought a hand up to her chin, resting her index finger beside her mouth. "He was certainly charming, I'll give him that. Had a way of talking to you like you had been friends for years, even if you'd just met him that day. By the time we had finished our first meeting, he had me sold on the good we could do together." She shrugged. "A born salesman, that was Merlin Waters."

"Really? And how about when you started working with him more closely?" Jason asked.

"Let me be clear, I deeply respect what Merlin was able to build here with the EPG," Rebecca said. "A lot of people out there were getting away with some terrible things before he came around and sent all that bad press their way. But if you're asking me honestly about the man... generating headlines was his main skillset. Before I came on board, this place mostly functioned as the PR firm for one Merlin Waters. Hundreds of employees, all dedicated to bolstering his image as the one true crusader for the planet. Lots of talk and plenty of publicity, but as far as meaningful action? The truly difficult work that will be required to clean up this planet? That was _my_ job, from the second Merlin brought me on board. As for Merlin's part... well, I'm sure he had important work he was doing, too. But not sure I could give you any specific examples."

Dylan gave Jason a look, one that said that he was as dumbfounded as Jason was. _Great, time for yet another completely different version of Merlin Waters._ "Gotta admit, Rebecca, that ain't exactly the story we've heard from some of the other folks we've talked to," Dylan said. "You saying all that work he did in Huaca Brava before he started the EPG... none of that was real?"

"So, you met with Janie, then," Rebecca said with a low chuckle. "Yes, of course she would tell you all of _those_ stories about Merlin Waters, selfless crusader for the environment. About how he'd be willing to lay down his life to protect a few square miles of pristine rainforest, and stood strong even with guns pointed in his face." She shook her head. "Maybe it's all true, I can't say for certain. I wasn't there for any of that. All I can speak to is the few years we worked together before Merlin vanished. And that man... I just can't picture him taking that sort of stand. Wouldn't want to put any scars on that photogenic face of his."

Jason struggled not to throw up his hands in frustration. "So, all those meetings that Janie told us about? Her and Merlin in his office, working around the clock to help further the mission of the EPG?"

This elicited a loud, barking laugh from Rebecca. "Oh, is that what she says the two of them were doing?" she asked. "Well, I'm sure they were working on _something_ in there all night, with his door locked and the shades drawn. Not sure it was anything to do with business, though."

"Ah, so you're thinking the two of them were... getting touch with nature in there?" Dylan asked.

"I don't indulge in office gossip, Dylan," Rebecca responded. "And I certainly don't believe in poking my nose in the personal affairs of others. All I can tell you is that, if Merlin and Janie were doing anything productive during those evening hours, I certainly never got wind of it."

Jason shook his head. "I have to admit that I'm surprised, Rebecca. Doesn't sound to me like you and Merlin got along well at all."

"Then I've given you the wrong impression, Mr. Lovelace," Rebecca said. "As I said, I respect Merlin and what he was able to accomplish with creating the EPG. And as far as our personal relationship, I found him to be a very agreeable person. But I suppose I can't help but feel a little bitter about how things worked out. With all of his money and clout, Merlin could have given us a grant, and kept the Climate Action Foundation afloat for another ten years, at least. Instead, he waited until we were on our last legs, then swooped in when we had no other choice but to accept his buyout." She made a frustrated sound. "Just like the Siyokoy, coming along while our heads were sinking beneath the waves, and gobbling us up. And then, on top of everything else... he runs off just when things are starting to get difficult."

Both Jason and Dylan leaned forward. "So, you're thinking Merlin just left?" Dylan asked. "Wasn't kidnapped or murdered, anything like that?"

"I'm almost positive he left on his own," Rebecca said. "Those few weeks just before he disappeared, he was even more disengaged than usual. Didn't show up for any meetings, kept having excuses for coming into the office late. Took two-and-a-half-hour-long lunches on a routine basis, that sort of thing. Just completely disengaged from EPT affairs... well, other than his personal ones, that is. And just when we were getting ready to do a massive expose on OPT and their offshore research stations."

"Mrs. Waters mentioned OPT to us as well," Jason said, trying not to sound too eager. "Said Merlin had brought them up frequently, just before he disappeared."

"Did he? Surprised he even noticed," Rebecca said. "If he did care about what was going on with OPT, he certainly didn't show it. I may have been in charge of most of the day-to-day management around here, but I still needed Merlin to sign off on any major fact-finding operations. And with him barely in the office to look over the proposal, we were never able to get it off the ground. Ended up having to scrap the whole investigation."

Jason paused to consider. It sure seemed like OPT was involved somehow with this whole Merlin Waters affair. But just like Merlin Waters himself, none of the stories about them were lining up. Celia claimed that Merlin was talking constantly about OPT before he disappeared. But according to Rebecca, he couldn't even be bothered to put his signature on the paperwork to investigate them. And meanwhile, his closest associate – and possible lover if Rebecca's insinuations were correct – Janie Wright hadn't heard a thing about OPT from Merlin.

"So, you're thinking he just got sick of the work and took a long vacation?" Dylan asked. "That why you're keeping his office the way he left it, in case he comes back?"

"Oh, he's definitely coming back," Rebecca said. "No doubt with more stories to tell about his brave and selfless efforts to protect nature. Look, I know it sounds like I didn't like Merlin, but it's more that I don't think he was the right fit to run the EPG. Truthfully, he's probably better off out on his own, playing the hero and trying to save the planet single-handedly. The life of an executive, managing people and dealing with budgets and all that... that's where _I_ shine. But I'm sure eventually, he's going to make a dramatic return to public life and soak in all the praise and glory. And probably expect me to step aside and let him retake the CEO position once he does show his face again." She sighed. "And I'll end up having to do it, too. Wouldn't want to stand in the way of Merlin Waters, greatest environmentalist who ever lived, after all. But until he does come back, I'm going to keep running this place like I always have. Because that's what a real leader does."

Jason thought back to Janie's story about the first time she saw Merlin, back in Huaca Brava. Either she was lying, or Rebecca was. Because the way Janie told it, Merlin hadn't even made any speeches until Janie and her countrymen had already taken the lead and forced the corporations out themselves. Not exactly the behavior of a self-centered glory-seeker like Rebecca was describing.

"So, speaking of Merlin's office," Jason said, deciding they weren't going to get much else useful from speaking to the embittered Rebecca, "we were wondering if we might take a look around. See if there's anything the police missed."

Rebecca gave a dismissive shrug. "You can try, but I doubt you'll find anything useful. One of Merlin's first directives when starting the EPG was turning us into a paperless office. So there's not going to be any incriminating documents lying around, if that's what you're thinking."

"Paperless, huh? So, you do all your work on computers?" Dylan asked. "Any way you might let us take a look at Merlin's PC while we're here?"

"Mmm, afraid that's against policy, Dylan. No letting non-employees have access to our network, not without a warrant of some kind."

Dylan gave her that charming smile again. "Aw, c'mon, Rebecca. You can't make an exception, just this once? You help us out, maybe we can track down Merlin before he comes back on his own. You know, steal some of his thunder and help you keep your job?"

"Well, if _anyone_ could tempt me to break EPG policy..." Rebecca said, smiling back with that quick nibble on her lower lip again. "But even if I did let you root around inside my... company's network, it wouldn't do you any good. Before he vanished, Merlin actually wiped all of his network files himself."

Jason frowned. "You're positive it was him?" he asked. "Not somebody out to cover something up, maybe?"

Rebecca shook her head. "The police asked that too, three years ago. But whoever did it would have needed to enter at least three security codes to get that deep into the root drive. Even our IT guys wouldn't have been able to touch those files without Merlin's authorization codes. I mean, I suppose it's possible that somebody put a gun to Merlin's head and forced him to enter the password, but even so... at that point, it probably would have been easier to just stick a virus in the system and wipe everything."

"Well, in any case, sounds like his office is the best lead we've got at this point," Jason said. "If you wouldn't mind showing us the way."

"Absolutely, Mr. Lovelace," Rebecca said, rising to her feet. "But please, try not to disturb things too much."

Jason nodded. "We appreciate it, ma'am. I promise that we'll be respectful," he said, picking up his tape recorder. Shutting it off, he tucked it away in the pocket of his old suede jacket.

Rebecca led them out of the office door, Jason and Dylan walking side-by-side. Keeping his voice low, Jason leaned in close to talk to his partner, the two of them falling a few steps behind Rebecca to keep out of earshot. "So... looks like Ms. Madigan's got her eye on you," he said quietly.

"Yeah, glad to see that the EPG is hard at work, keeping cougars off the endangered species list," Dylan remarked, keeping his eyes locked on Rebecca's backside doing its hypnotic back-and-forth dance underneath her tight grey skirt. "Mrow."

"Well, how about you and Ms. Madigan have a nice chat while I search Merlin's office?" Jason said. "Just in case I have to dig around somewhere she doesn't want me to look."

"Shit, you thinking she's got something to do with Merlin disappearing, Jace?"

"Don't know. Obviously she didn't like the guy much. And things are definitely going her way with him out the picture. In any case... just work your Medeiros magic on her so I can check things out in private."

"Sure thing, Jace. Just don't ask me to talk to her about those creepy fish people again. Maybe she's not freaked out by that shit, but I've definitely gonna be checking under the bed for Sickomodes tonight."

"Siyokoys," Jason corrected him.

Reaching the end of the upstairs hallway, Rebecca pulled a small key out of her jacket pocket. "Here we are. Only people who have been in here since the police searched it have been the cleaning crews once a month. It should be exactly how Merlin left it."

Rebecca stepped inside, the motion-sensor lights turning on automatically. Jason and Dylan followed inside behind her, taking a good look around at the preserved office space of one Merlin Waters.

 _Well, looks like this guy came a long way from civil disobedience education down in Huaca Brava,_ Jason mused to himself as he strolled around the room. The office was almost twice the size of Rebecca's, done up with dark paneling and spotless cream carpeting. Thankfully, no paintings of horrible sea monsters on the wall. Merlin's tastes went more toward generic pop art, hanging alongside various certificates of recognition for Merlin and the EPG. There were bookshelves set into the walls, filled with various tomes on biology, ecology, and all the other topics that a planetary crusader would be interested in. And to top it all off, plate-glass windows giving them a gorgeous view of downtown Eagle Bay.

But it was the desk that really caught Jason's eye. Unlike the simple oak-top, metal-drawered one in Rebecca's office, this one looked to be made of solid rosewood. The sides and corners were decorated with elaborate carvings, images of various animals in mid-frolic etched across every surface.

Jason walked around to the backside of the desk, seeing six drawers with polished handles, three on either side of where the office's main occupant would be sitting, if he wasn't currently in the wind. On top of the desk, several photos of their mysterious quarry. Some were of a younger Merlin, surrounded by smiling townsfolk in various far-off locales. Others more recent, the grey streaks in Merlin's beard more pronounced, all with him smiling next to his lovely wife.

And arranged around the various pictures were a variety of small wooden statues, all depicting animals just like the ones carved into the desk. A leaping rabbit, swooping hawk, and prowling tiger were part of the menagerie, along with more unusual creatures like a squid and a marlin, the large fish depicted leaping out of the water with its sharp nose pointing upward at the drop ceiling.

Seeing Jason staring at the unusual decorations, Rebecca chuckled. "Woodworking was one of his hobbies. He did all those carvings himself," she said. "The animals, and even that entire desk, all Merlin Waters masterpieces."

"Huh, ironic," Dylan said. "Trying to save the planet, but using up all those dead trees for his art projects?"

"Oh, no, it wasn't like that," Rebecca explained. "Merlin was always very big on sustainable wood. He made sure that, for every tree that went into one of his sculptures, three were planted in its place. Merlin may have had his faults, but I never doubted his sincerity in wanting to save the planet. Just his methodology."

Jason turned his attention away from the desk, giving Dylan a quick glance. "Well, thanks for letting us take a look. We shouldn't be too long."

"Hey, Jace, you mind if I take a quick snack break before we get started?" Dylan said. "I don't get something to eat, I'm gonna start gnawing on one of those wooden bunnies over there."

"Told you not to skip lunch," Jason said, playing along with the ruse. "No problem, I'll wait for you to get back."

Dylan turned to Rebecca. "You got a break room around here? Vending machine or something?"

"Sure, just head down the stairs you came up, and head down the hallway to the left. Take a right after a few feet, and it's right there," Rebecca said.

Dylan shook his head, feigning confusion. "Ah, I'm just terrible with directions. You mind showing me? If it's not too much trouble."

Rebecca glanced at Jason, and for a moment he worried that she wouldn't take the bait. But then she turned back to Dylan, that hungry look in her eyes again. "No trouble at all. Follow me, Dylan."

"Gladly," Dylan said. Waiting until she was turned away from him, he looked back at Jason with mouth hanging open and eyes wide, reaching down to fondle two imaginary ass-cheeks. Jason rolled his eyes as Dylan grinned, heading out the door behind Rebecca. Jason could Dylan working his magic as they moved down the hallway, "Say, speaking of eating, you got any dinner plans tonight? Because I'd love to talk more about the environment with a woman as..."

Once their voices were out of earshot, Jason headed to the office door, pushing it shut to make sure nobody poked their head inside. Finally, he was alone. Time to go to work.

The desk would be the obvious place to start. So Jason didn't start there. He only had a limited amount of time before Rebecca and Dylan came back, and Rebecca had to know that Jason would want to look through Merlin's desk at some point. Instead, Jason started his search elsewhere. In the kinds of places that might raise a few objections.

First, he went for the wall hangings. A secret safe behind a painting might have seemed a cliché, but it was one that bore out more than you would think, in his experience. Lifting them carefully, one-by-one, Jason checked for anything hidden. But in each case, he found nothing but bare walls underneath.

Letting the last framed certificate fall back into place, Jason read the text, rendered in faux-handwritten script. "The Society of Zoological Preservation recognizes MERLIN WATERS, for his selfless and fearless work on behalf of nature."

_Well, if I believe Rebecca, the "selfless" part is bullshit. Or if Celia is to be trusted, the "fearless" part of that probably isn't true. Of course, if you asked Janie about it, she'd probably say that just giving Merlin a certificate wasn't enough. They should have held a parade in his honor or crowned him One True King of Loving the Planet._

Jason gritted his teeth. Dammit, this case was driving him crazy. Three interviews, three completely different versions of their missing person. Celia had painted a picture of a faithful husband haunted by unknown threats. But if Jason were to believe Janie, Merlin was a fearless crusader trapped in a failing marriage. And then there was Rebecca's version of Merlin, a charismatic huckster who spent his spare time boning his underlings, and bailed on the EPG once he got bored with it.

Someone was lying. They had to be. But why? What possible benefit could there be in weaving an entire fiction around a man who had been missing, probably dead, for three years now?

He shook his head. Had to focus. Make use of the time Dylan was buying him to search as much of this place as he could. There had to be something here he would work with. Something that would give them a lead on where to go next.

Jason turned his attention to the bookshelves. Unlike the "safe hidden behind a painting" trope, books connected to switches that revealed secret passageways weren't exactly a staple of his profession. Still, books themselves could serve as useful hiding places.

He didn't have time to flip through all of the dozens of hard-bound books. Still, he tried his best to give each of them a cursory inspection, at least. Pivoted them off the shelf to feel the weight, parting the pages slightly to see if any had been hollowed out to hold something inside. Running his fingers along the top edges to feel for any small gaps, places where something might have been secretly shoved between the pages.

But after several minutes going up and down the various volumes... nothing. Just like hunting behind the paintings and certificates of recognition, there was nothing strange about any of the books from what he could determine.

Except for one thing. He was turning away from the last set of shelves when one of the individual volumes caught his eye. So much of his focus had been on the actual physical books and their pages, he hadn't been paying attention to the titles and covers. But this one was hard to miss.

It was placed near the bottom, stuck onto the shelf next to a twelve-volume encyclopedia of ecology. The spine of the book was colorful, all pinks and rose reds mixed in with the pure whites and navy blues of the surrounding texts.

Jason pulled it out, scanning the title. "The Voice of Our Mother: Poems of Life by Fernando Estrada." Nature poetry, from the looks of the cover: all flowers, green fields of grass, and butterflies. Obviously a topic Merlin was interested in, but it didn't really fit with his other office reading. All the other books were bland scientific texts, or biographies of various biologists, botanists, and climatologists. Nothing quite as whimsical as this book to be found.

Once Jason opened up the cover, though, it started to make sense. Someone had written on the plain white first page, delicate curves and soft loops. "For a great man on the day of his birth. May these beautiful words inspire you, just as your pure and noble spirit has always inspired me. Whatever should come in the years ahead, no matter how dark and terrible the road ahead may seem, know that I will always be there with you, side by side, and hand in hand. Yours, Jimena."

_"It may not seem like it, but... even years later, I still feel that void sometimes. That empty place in my heart where he used to be."_

Well, if nothing else, Jason had finally discovered one incontrovertible lie among the many potential ones he had been told over the past 24 hours. This was no "silly infatuation" that had long since passed. The date that Janie had helpfully written below her flowery dedication was just a few months before Merlin had disappeared. Long after he and Janie's "professional" relationship had started, and she was supposedly over her crush on him.

No, nothing was over. Ever since that day back in Huaca Brava, Janie had never stopped loving Merlin. She was probably still in love with him, even while believing he was dead.

Jason thought back to earlier that day, walking into Janie's home. That Wright family picture by the front door, the twenty-something Janie smiling next to her much older husband.

_Was Mr. Wright who you actually wanted, Janie? Was he really your Mr. Right? Or did you just settle for someone who was close enough? Looked enough and felt enough like the man you actually loved, but thought you could never have?_

Jason slid the book back into its spot on the shelf. It had certainly cleared up a few things, but it wasn't helping him accomplish his real mission: finding out where in the hell the mysterious Mr. Waters had wandered off to.

There wasn't much else to check in the office, and no sign of Rebecca returning. With no other leads, Jason turned his attention to the big, hand-carved elephant in the room.

Walking over to Merlin's desk, Jason began pulling the drawers open. With no paperwork at the EPG, there weren't a lot of the usual office supplies to be found. The drawers were mostly empty, with only a few pieces of electronic equipment inside most of them. Several charging cables and a laptop power cord. Merlin's deactivated office phone along with a headset for taking remote meetings. In one of the larger bottom drawers, a laptop bag, sadly empty. Even if he had wiped his network files, maybe Jason could have found something saved locally. But no laptop, and if Merlin had a desktop PC, it must have long ago been reissued to another EPG employee.

Feeling around in one of the top drawers, Jason found another one of Merlin's projects: a hand-carved wooden letter opener, ocean waves etched into its lacquered surface. Even in a "paperless" office, guess there was still mail coming in. Seeing nothing unusual about it, Jason laid it back in the drawer.

With nothing else of interest to be found inside the desk, Jason looked over what had been placed on top. Opened up the frames on the various photos to peek behind them, see if Merlin might have left some vital clues hidden behind his treasured memories. Then he inspected the animal carvings, picking them up one-by-one to feel for hollow bases or hidden compartments. The tiger, the marlin... all of Merlin's little wooden zoo got felt up by the probing fingers of one Jason Lovelace.

Nothing. Nothing at all. The carvings all appeared to be solid wood. And nothing behind the pictures. Like everything else involving this case, he had come up with nothing useful.

Letting out his breath in a long, aggravated sigh, Jason fell back into Merlin's faux-leather desk chair. There had to be something here. _Had_ to be. Because if there wasn't, this was where the trail went cold. He supposed they could try talking to Botezatu, the detective assigned to Merlin's disappearance. But if the letter they'd sent to Celia was any indication, the NPA was washing their hands of the whole Waters affair. And other than that? Nada, zilch, zero.

For as much as that mysterious visit on the bridge had unnerved him, Jason now found himself desperate to keep this case going. It was a mystery, an actual goddamn mystery. Not just some boring background check or cheating lover surveillance job. Something had happened here. But even after all that he and Dylan had done up to this point, Jason felt like they were nowhere even close to the truth.

_"I want to be the greatest detective who ever lived."_

The voice of a naïve, hopeful young man in his mind. His own voice, from twenty years and twenty dozen tragedies ago. That poor bastard. No way he could have known the path those words would set him down. And where he would end up two decades later. Lost and clueless, fumbling around in the dark, desperately hunting for the truth inside of all the lies they were telling him.

_"Choose me, Jason. The two of us working together... they'll be begging to spill all their dirty secrets. There won't be any mystery that we won't be able to solve, if you just choose me."_

Was he kidding himself? All of his biggest busts, his greatest achievements had been with _her_ help. And now she was gone, and Jason felt like he was just play-acting as a detective. Trying to fool everyone into thinking he was any good at this at all. But without her leading him around by the hand, Jason just felt lost. Dylan was a great partner, but compared to Nimei? No one else, human or otherwise, could possibly measure up.

"Get it together, man," he muttered to himself. Back to the basics, remember what they taught you. He cast his mind back to his training, the instructor telling them the best procedures to follow on a difficult case.

_The best investigators are the ones that can put themselves in the mind of the suspect. They step onto the scene of the crime and they just play it out, think and act just like the suspect did. You learn how to do that, and nine times out of ten you'll find something you never would have seen otherwise._

Only problem, there wasn't really a suspect, not in this case. But they _were_ trying to work out the actions of a certain individual.

This was so stupid. Probably one of the dumbest ideas he had ever had. But right about now, with his options running out, Jason was willing to try just about anything.

Standing up from Merlin's chair, he held out his hand to an imaginary visitor. "Hey, great to meet you!" Jason said to the open air. "Merlin Waters, I run things around here. Why don't you have a seat, and we talk about keeping the planet clean and all that shit."

He sat back down, trying to put himself into the shoes of a man who might have been a size 8, an 11 ½, or a 13 ¾, depending on which of the three women in Merlin's life that Jason had talked to last. "You want to discuss the damage your company is doing to the ozone layer? And how we can help you clean up your act?" Jason said to no one. "Wonderful, let me pull up some information on my laptop and we can get started."

Jason play-acted out the scene, reaching down to the lower-right drawer of Merlin's desk and pulling it all the way open. "Oh, right, other drawer," he said, smiling bashfully at his non-existent roleplay partner. He turned in his chair to the other side of the desk. "Sorry about that. I'm a little tired this morning. Was here late last night working with one of my associates on some plans for our next promotional campaign." He opened up the matching drawer by his other leg, grabbing at the laptop bag inside. "Or maybe I was porking her on the couch over there, hard to remember. Anyway, what..."

He trailed off. Stared down at the open drawer. Turned to look at the drawer on the other side of the desk, still hanging open as well. "No," he muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes as he looked back and forth between the two open drawers. "No way."

He pulled open the top two drawers on the right side. Did the same on the left. Once he did, he felt a familiar tingle filling his body. That feeling he always got when the fog started to dissipate, and the picture became clearer.

On the right side, the three open drawers lined up exactly when pulled out all the way. But on the left... the two drawers on top were the only ones that were flush with each other.

It hadn't been his imagination. The bottom left drawer wasn't coming out as far as the other ones. He gave the handle another tug, just to be sure it wasn't stuck. But it didn't move any further. It was a small difference, only about two inches.

But it was enough. Just enough space to hide something.

Shutting the other drawers, Merlin crouched down next to the desk, looking down into the odd drawer out. Pulling out the laptop bag and everything else inside, he felt around at the back panel of the suspect drawer. It didn't take him long to find it. The tip of his finger ran across a small hole, the tiniest of black dots in the red-tinted wood. Barely visible to the eye, but it was definitely there.

Jason probed the crevice with his fingernail, but it was too small for him to get very far inside. "How does it open, Merlin?" Jason muttered to himself. "Got to be something you used, a key or something." For a moment, he considered that it might have been something that Merlin carried with him, but he was quick to dismiss the notion in his excitement.

It had to be here. The key had to be here somewhere in this office.

An idea struck him. He re-opened one of the upper drawers, finding Merlin's hand-made letter opener and trying to push it through the hole. But the dull knife was too wide, only the very tip managing to penetrate the small opening. After wiggling it around in the hole for a few seconds, Jason gave up.

"Something narrower," Jason said under his breath, looking around the room. "Like a needle or a..."

His eyes focused on the animals on Merlin's desk. The rabbit and the tiger and the...

_Merlin... marlin. Was that on purpose, Mr. Waters? If so... wherever you are, I hope you can hear me groaning._

Snatching up the marlin carving, he shoved the fish's thin, sharp beak into the hole. The faintest click, and the back of the drawer pivoted forward, revealing the secret compartment behind it.

Reaching in, hands shaking in excitement, Jason felt something press against his fingers. Thick with a rough surface, whatever it was. He pulled the object out into the light, setting it down on the desk. A book of some kind, bound in a strange sort of leather that Jason had never seen before. _Hope you weren't hiding this just to keep your animal buddies from getting upset at you,_ Jason thought.

Jason opened the book, and felt his heart sink as he saw nothing but blank pages. An empty journal? That's what Merlin was trying so hard to hide? Then Jason took another look at the book, and realized he had opened it the wrong way. It was upside-down. _Good one, Lovelace._

His heart was pounding in his chest as he flipped the book over. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. A secret journal, tucked away in an elaborate hidden compartment. After being run around by everyone he had talked to since taking this case, the key to everything could finally be in front of him. With trembling fingers, he opened it up to the first page.

And immediately, the sound of a mocking trumpet in his mind. Like a game show contestant who had picked the wrong door, finding a cow instead of the trip to Sommerset Beach he had hoped for.

"Merlin, you son of a bitch," Jason muttered under his breath.

Merlin had definitely written in this book. Jason flipped through briskly, finding almost a hundred pages had been filled before Merlin had left it behind. But the writing wasn't in any language that Jason understood. The letters were strange, not like any form of writing Jason had ever seen in his life.

Probably not an actual foreign language, if Jason were to guess. A code of some kind. Great, and just when Jason had thought he had cracked the case.

As he flipped through the illegible text, his previous glee fading back into frustration, something fell from between two of the pages. Jason grabbed for it, but it slipped out of his grasp, drifting down lightly to fall on the carpet.

Jason crouched down to pick it up. Small slip of thick paper, a business card from the looks of it. He flipped it over and read it out loud. "Dr. Isaac Orenstein. Professor of Astrobiology. Ethridge University."

Astrobiology? What the hell was that? Was this Orenstein guy some sort of... space professor? It wasn't enough for Merlin Waters to save this planet, he wanted to try his hand fixing other ones, too?

Whatever it was, at least Jason knew the next step in their investigation. Maybe this Dr. Orenstein knew how to crack the code in Merlin's journal. Or at least had some idea of where Merlin had hidden away these past three years. Either way, Jason finally had a solid lead. Something concrete to work with after dealing with so many conflicting stories and outright lies. Maybe he'd been wrong. He could do this without Nimei after all.

 _Calm down, buddy,_ he chided himself. _Wait until you've actually solved the case before you declare yourself the greatest detective who ever lived._

Setting the journal aside, Jason felt around inside of the compartment for any other buried treasures. At first, he thought that the cryptic log was all that had been hidden there. But then his fingers found something cold and smooth. Guess this office wasn't as paperless as Rebecca claimed, because whatever Jason had found in there was definitely the product of a dead tree or two.

Jason pulled out the object, revealing it in the light as a plain white envelope. Flipping it around to the front, he saw just six letters carefully printed on the front: "JIMENA." The envelope hadn't been sealed, so Jason was able to open it without causing any damage. Inside were three folded, hand-written pages. Jason pulled them out and started reading.

And just a few lines into the first page, he folded the sheets up again and tucked the letter back into the envelope. These words weren't meant for him. They were for one person only, the woman whose name was on the envelope. And Jason didn't feel right reading any further than he already had.

Besides, he had only needed those first few sentences to get the gist. It was a love letter. Merlin spilling out his soul to Janie, telling her about how much she had come to mean to him, and how much of a relief it was to finally confess his feelings, even if it was only writing it down in a letter he would probably never send.

Jason wondered how long that envelope had sat hidden in that secret compartment. And why, if Merlin had disappeared of his own free will, he hadn't taken the time to deliver his desperate confession of love before heading for the hills.

His phone made a noise in his pocket. Dylan sending a text, just two words: "Coming back." Jason slammed the hidden compartment shut, hearing a click as the catch re-engaged. The laptop bag and other items went back into the desk next, Jason scrambling to arrange things as close as possible to how he had found it before shoving the drawer back into place. Sticking the business card and love letter between Merlin's journal pages, he tucked all of the recovered evidence under his arm inside of his suede jacket, zipping it up to hide the spoils of his search.

Just as he was finishing tidying up, Dylan walked through the door, open bag of potato chips in hand. "Hey, everything cool in here, Jace?" he asked, trying his best to obstruct Rebecca's view from behind him. Just in case his partner needed any more time to cover his tracks.

"All good," Jason said, walking around from behind the desk. "Took a look around while you were gone. Guess Rebecca was right. Pretty sure we're not going to find anything useful here." He arched his brow twice, giving Dylan the slightest of smiles.

"Really? You sure you don't want me to give it a shot?" Dylan said. From his tone, though, he had already picked up on Jason's unspoken message: _I got what we were looking for._ "Might be something you missed."

"No, it's fine. We've already imposed on Ms. Madigan enough," Jason said, as the dark-haired executive followed in behind Dylan. "Thank you very much for your time, ma'am. Do you mind if we give you a call with any other questions that come up?"

"Not at all," Rebecca said. The briefest of glances in Dylan's direction as she added, "I... already provided my personal number to your partner. Call me if there's anything I can do to help in your search."

"Thanks again, ma'am," Jason said, trying his best to disguise the bulge under his jacket as he walked to the office door. "We'll keep you updated on the status of the case."

Once they were safely away from Rebecca and outside of the EPG headquarters, Dylan laid a hand on Jason's shoulder. "I know that look, Jace," he said, a trace of excitement in his voice. "You found something big in there, didn't you?"

"Found something, yeah. Not sure if I'd call it 'big' just yet," Jason said. Leading Dylan over to a nearby bench to sit for a moment, he unzipped his jacket, showing his partner the journal written in strange, coded text. And the college professor's business card tucked inside, Dylan just as mystified by the subject of "astrobiology" as Jason was.

And, after a moment to let Dylan consider the rest, Jason held up the hidden love letter from Merlin to Janie, describing what he had read along with the matching message of devotion inside the book of poetry.

"Damn, so they were into each other after all?" Dylan said after Jason was finished. "Guess we should have known with all that 'empty space in my heart' talk that Janie was still thirsting for some Waters," he grinned at his own pun, but got serious after Jason gave him an annoyed look. "So, what you thinking? The two of them were planning to run off together, but Janie gets cold feet? Sticks with her husband and leaves Merlin high and dry, out on his own?"

Jason waved the envelope. "It would fit, except for what Merlin wrote in this. I didn't read the whole thing, but I saw enough. This wasn't a letter you write to somebody who already knew about your feelings. It's a love _con_ fession, not _pro_ fession. He's saying things about 'the words I've been longing to say for so long, but never could.' I'm not sure that Janie ever knew that Merlin had fallen in love with her."

"So, you're saying Rebecca had it wrong," Dylan said. "That all those late meetings between Merlin and Janie... they really were just about EPG business?"

"I think so, yeah," Jason said. "Of course, it's possible that maybe Merlin decided to skip the letter, just told Janie face-to-face. But he still had it stuck away in that secret compartment. Makes me think he was still planning to deliver it at some point, before he disappeared."

Dylan nodded. "Wild stuff. So, you think we should tell her? Drop Merlin's letter by since he's not around to do it himself?"

Jason immediately shook his head. "It's not our place. We get to the end of this case and find out that Merlin's definitely dead... maybe then, we give Janie the message. But for now, let's just hold onto it. Besides, it's not going to get us any closer to finding our missing person. With what Janie wrote in that book... if Merlin was alive, and she knew where he was, she'd already be with him. No doubt in my mind on that."

"Yeah, I hear you," Dylan said. "So, guess this Orenstein guy is our next stop. You thinking we go over to the university tomorrow, see if he can make sense of Merlin's secret code book?"

"Nah, not in the mood to wait at this point. We go today," Jason said. "If I'm right, then this journal is going to make sense of so much of this mess."

"I dunno. Getting kind of late, isn't it?" Dylan said, nervously shifting his stare away from Jason. "Might be the professor's got something going on tonight. Dinner plans or something."

"The professor, or someone else maybe?" Jason said, a smile creeping onto his face. "Let me guess. You and Miss Madigan are going to have some intense discussions on the state of our planet tonight. Perhaps over cocktails."

Dylan grinned back. "Nah, nothing like that. Just... turns out Rebecca lives on a nice little houseboat docked here in Eagle Bay. Offered to take me on a moonlight cruise later tonight, maybe see if we can spot any of those Silentos of hers out on the ocean."

"Sirenas," Jason corrected. "Don't worry about it. Go enjoy yourself. Think I can handle chatting with a college professor about secret codes by myself."

"Seriously, though, if something big comes up, you text me right away," Dylan said. "Shit, this case, man. Just keeps getting crazier."

Jason paused, considering his next words carefully. "Hey, so, were you going to meet Rebecca here? Or at her boat?"

"Her boat, why?"

"Did she give you the SLEGWIT coordinates for where she's docked? Maybe you better send those over."

Dylan gave Jason a narrowed-eye look. "What's up, Jace? Why you being so weird?"

"Probably nothing. Could be me being paranoid. But... well, like we were talking about back in the EPG building. If anyone benefited from Merlin vanishing, it was definitely the new Ecological Protection Group CEO. Makes me wonder if she might have helped Merlin disappear, you know what I mean?"

Dylan rubbed his chin. "Shit. You really think she might have killed the guy?" He frowned. "Maybe you're right, Jace. Probably should call this whole date thing off, not take any chances."

Shaking his head, Jason gave Dylan a light slap on the shoulder. "Nah, don't worry about it. Like I said, probably just being paranoid. Besides, even if she did try something... you're like, what, twice her size? I'm sure you can handle yourself."

"Yeah, she's a tiny little thing," Dylan said. "But big where it counts, know what I'm saying?"

Jason got up from the bench. "Well, have fun."

"Talking about her ass, Jace."

"Yes. I know."

"Just saying, maybe she's a killer. But she's a killer with a great big ass."

"See you at home, Dylan."

"Yeah, probably won't be 'til tomorrow. 'Cuz I'm gonna be busy tonight. Busy with that great big..."

But Jason was already walking away, dialing in the coordinates for Ethridge University on the SLEGWIT app as he walked. Much as he was excited about this solid new lead, he couldn't help but wonder how things had gotten to this point.

Back in the good old days, _he_ would have been the one sharing cold drinks and a warm bed with the beautiful femme fatale and potential murderess. Instead of spending his evening discussing ciphers with some crusty old college professor.

_Oh, Nimei. What would you say if you could see me now? Probably just laugh your incorporeal ass off._


	4. Grimoire

Marielle gave him that look as she walked into the NPA detective bureau break room. That look she always had just before she was about to deliver what she thought was a clever line. Of course, his partner's idea of clever usually ran the gamut between "vulgar innuendo" and "flat mockery," so Mark made sure to brace himself.

"What's this?" Marielle said, pulling up a chair at the table where Mark sat, nursing a mug of black coffee. "Mark McLoughlin actually taking a break? Question now is, did you have to ask somebody for directions to find your way here? Or did you just look up the building's blueprints?"

"I come here all the time, actually," Mark said sourly, sipping on his mug. "Mostly when I get fed up with my lackadaisical partner."

Marielle whistled between her teeth. "Wow, a five-syllable insult. I'm almost flattered you'd spare that much breath for me." She leaned her elbow on the table, resting her cheek on her open palm. "Somebody's having a rotten one, huh?"

"We both are. Or haven't you checked your email?"

Marielle gave him an innocent smile. "Like Captain Albanese always said: who's got time for reading when there's police work to be done? Why, what's up? Bad news about the Keenan case?"

"We've received an official communication from the Coalition of Caster Investigation," Mark said. "Agents Nazani Winther and Hugh Crosby will be arriving within the hour."

"Aw, for... they called in the fed-necks already?" Marielle said, sitting up straight with a scowl. She saw Mark's sour look and gave him a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Don't start with that again, Captain Pedantic." She lowered her voice in a hideous imitation of her partner. "'Um, actually, fed-necks is a misnomer. They're not a federal agency, as Tanglewilde is technically a city-state. And they're not just necromancers, they practice other magical disciplines, as well.'" Marielle shook her head. "Whatever you call them, CCI, fed-necks... we're getting fucked on this either way."

"Wasn't expecting you to be this upset," Mark said. "I would have thought you'd be happy to get a case this loaded pulled away from us."

"Yeah, eventually," Marielle said. "In a few weeks, after we've had some time to work the leads as much as we can. But the bastards on the top floor didn't even give us 48 hours before they went running to the CCI for help. Makes it look like they've got no faith in us." She gestured upward with her hand. "Come on, Mark. You and me are going down to the lieutenant's office, and we're not leaving that fat fuck's office until he gets on the phone with the captain, the chief... whoever it takes to call off the fed-necks."

Marielle started to get to her feet, but Mark held out a hand to stop her. "Lieutenant has nothing to do with this, Marielle," he said. "Email from Agent Winther made it clear: the CCI are the ones who want this case. _They're_ the ones who contacted the NPA in regards to Keenan's death."

Slumping back down in her chair, Marielle stared at Mark, jaw slack. "You're shitting me," she said. "The CCI came to us?" Mark nodded. "Mark, in thirteen years in this department, I've never once heard of the CCI volunteering to take on one of our cases."

"I know," Mark said. "Usually the higher-ups have to go begging for _them_ to come lend a hand. Most times, they don't even pick up the phone unless it's the deputy chief or higher calling. For one of them to come to us like this..."

Marielle looked baffled. "Doesn't make any damn sense. Only reason the CCI steps outside of Tanglewilde normally is if magic's involved. And you said it yourself, no magical residue on the scene of Keenan's murder."

"Hmm, so you do actually listen to what I have to say on occasion."

"So why would they volunteer for this one?" Marielle said, pointedly ignoring his comment. She drummed her fingers on the table, considering things for a moment. "Gotta be something about this case they know that we don't. Any hints in the email why CCI's getting involved?"

Mark shook his head. "Agent Winther just said she and her partner would be here later today, and that our presence would be appreciated at the..." he swallowed. "...the summoning."

She wasn't the most observant detective on the force, but even Marielle could sense his discomfort. "First time, huh?" she asked with a gleam in her eye. Mark gave his partner a quick nod, and Marielle grinned. "Ooh, I get to see Marky get his séance cherry broken. Hey, I'll hold your hand if the ghost makes you nervous, sweetie."

"I'm not nervous," Mark lied. "Just... unsettled by the whole concept. Summoning the spirit of the deceased just to question them about their own murder... feels perverse to me."

"Well, wish I could tell you that you'll get used to it, but I'd be bullshitting you. Thirteen years here, I've gotten to see three CCI 'spirit interviews.' And every time, it's just about the creepiest shit you could imagine." Marielle paused, and added with a shrug, "Same time, though, I guess I can't argue with results. Each of those three times, the information we got out of the summoning ended up breaking the case wide open. I mean, ain't it always been the dream of every cop since they started handing out badges? To be able to talk to a murder victim, hear what happened just before he got whacked?"

"Doesn't matter if it makes our jobs easier. It's disrespectful," Mark said. "The dead deserve their rest. What right is it of the living to disturb them, just to satisfy our own desires for justice?"

Marielle seemed unconcerned. "Tell it to the Tanglewilde boys, I guess. Not up to us what they do with those wands of theirs. Hell, from what I hear, necromancy is one of the first tricks those casters learn once they're Enjoined. Bet even that preening little douchebag Kyron Collins could talk to a ghost if he wanted to." She laughed and added, "Probably would, too, if he thought they could stream his latest single from beyond the grave."

She was being flippant, just like she was about pretty much everything. But the thought of spirit summonings had Mark feeling on edge. And not just out of respect for the late Howard Keenan. "Promise me this, Marielle," Mark said, leaning forward on the table and staring intently at his partner. "If I ever go down in the line of duty, and the top floor wants to bring in the CCI to find out who did it... don't let them. You do whatever it takes to keep their wands away from my body."

"Hey, stop with that," Marielle said. "I've seen this movie a hundred times before. Cop says to his partner, 'If anything happens to me, make sure this letter gets to my wife,' or some crap like that. Might as well be signing your own death warrant."

"This isn't a movie, Marielle. And I'm serious. When I'm gone, I want to stay gone. Promise that you won't let them summon me." He stared intently into her eyes. "Please."

"Okay, okay, sure," Marielle said, managing to sound sincere for once. "That's what you want, that's what I'll do. Guess I'll just have to avenge your future murder the hard way: with some old-fashioned police work."

Trying to imagine Marielle actually getting off her ass and doing real detective work to solve his murder, Mark almost made a joke about changing his mind. But this was no laughing matter to him. "Thanks, partner," Mark said. "You want, I could do the same for you."

Marielle smirked. "Hey, don't worry about it. Not gonna be an issue, since I don't ever plan on dying."

"If only it were that easy," Mark said. "But a job like this, you never-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Forget about the job. I'm saying I'm never going to die. Like, ever. I know it's all the rage, everybody's doing it. But me... I'm just going to live forever."

Mark found himself smiling. "Well, I suppose that's one way to get around it." If he didn't have to spend most of his working hours making up for Marielle's lack of effort, there were times when he almost managed to like her. Just a little.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, Marielle finally gesturing at Mark's phone under his hand. "When are they supposed to get here again? Those folks we aren't calling fed-necks?"

"Any time now," Mark said, glancing at the display on his phone for the time. "I told Brianne to come find me when they called up from the lobby."

"Fucking wizard cops," Marielle said, shaking her head. "How long's it been, and all this magic crap still freaks me out a little?"

Mark paused to think. "Around eighteen years now, since Tanglewilde got put on the Network," he said after a moment.

"Shit, that long? Young stud like you, you were probably just a kid when Xing made the big announcement, huh."

Mark nodded. "Ten years old. I still remember that day in school. We were in the middle of science class when the announcement came over the PA. Surprise public statement from Miana Xing, head of One Planet Technologies, about the latest expansion to the Network."

"Yeah, crazy day. Everybody freaking out about Xing's big news," Marielle said. "Normally OPT gives tons of advance notice whenever a new city is going to be added. Press releases and countdown clocks on their website, all that crap. But this was just, 'Hey, everybody! New node on the Network getting added today, check it out!'"

"Right. My science teacher Mr. Horowitz wheeled in one of those TVs on a cart so we can all watch. It comes on, and Ms. Xing began telling everyone about Tanglewilde, and how excited she was to welcome them to the Network."

"And you're all probably like, 'Huh? What the hell is a Tanglewilde?'"

Mark gave a shrug. "Well, I was still in school. So at the time, I just thought that they hadn't gotten to that part of the world in geography class yet. But I saw Mr. Horowitz looking confused too, like he'd never heard of it either."

"Nobody had," Marielle said. "Almost makes you wonder, huh? If the folks in charge of Tanglewilde were working magic back then to make everyone forget that they existed? Or is it just that the public schools on the Network all suck, not bothering to cover what we all thought was some micro-nation in the middle of nowhere?"

"Hard to say. In any case, my whole class is still reacting to hearing about Tanglewilde for the first time, when Xing drops the other big bomb."

This brought a laugh out of Marielle. "Yeah, me and my roommate Sarah were watching it together. Xing's talking all this stuff about magic, and Sarah's like," she put on a stereotypical dumb girl voice, "'Is this, like, a metaphor or something? Like, Tanglewilde is magically pretty or something?'"

"I'll never forget the look on my teacher's face," Mark said. "When Xing brought out all those casters to show off their skills. Creating plants and animals out of thin air, changing the weather with a flick of their wands. Violating just about every law of physics known to man, right there on camera. It's not often in life that you see someone's entire worldview get destroyed in the span of a few minutes. Once it was over, Mr. Horowitz just stood up and walked out of the classroom. Didn't say a word, just... left. We ended up having a substitute for the rest of the school year. Mr. Horowitz did come back eventually, but the man was never quite the same after that."

Marielle scoffed. "You think being a science teacher was bad back then? Try being a cop. I was still at the academy when it all went down, but even a year later when I had graduated and was walking the beat, you were still hearing it. All these suspects trying to tell us, 'Oh, you don't understand! My girlfriend might have been stabbed twenty times, and you might have caught me trying to dump a bloody knife down a sewer drain... but it wasn't my fault. A wizard cast a spell on me and made me do it!'" Marielle smirked. "Good thing the CCI eventually took pity on us normies and started educating us about 'alchemic residue' and all that crap, or we'd probably still be taking sketches of bearded old men in pointy hats at every crime scene."

"New rules, new ways of thinking," Mark observed. "That's all it was in the end. Even something as seemingly inexplicable as magic operates according to rules."

"And so many of them, too," Marielle said. "I'll admit it, I was a sucker like everyone else back then. Took a trip down to Tanglewilde and picked up one of those 'beginner's spellbooks' they sell down there. But all the shit you gotta do just to cast one simple cantrip? All those complicated steps and weird ingredients? Unless you crack Tanglewilde's big secret and get yourself Enjoined with an eidolon, magic's just too much of a headache."

"I suppose it's a good thing for us. Imagine how much more difficult our jobs would be if every criminal on the Network knew how to cast spells."

This brought a laugh out of Marielle. "Right, choice between spending years figuring out how to make a wand work, and just going down to a Chapel City pawn shop and buying a gun, ain't much of a choice for most of these knuckleheads." She paused, glancing to the side. "Still, you think maybe Gaultier and Ariano have casters on their payrolls? Could be why the CCI is ready to yank this case away from us."

"It's certainly possible," Mark said. "But even so, we know that magic wasn't used to kill Keenan. No evidence of it at the scene, and even if it was scrubbed down somehow... they couldn't have gotten away with it."

"Right, one of those rules you were talking about," Marielle said. "Anyone uses magic to commit a murder, it gets detected by the high muckedy-mucks back in Tanglewilde and they come down with a fury on the poor sap." Marielle shook her head, slumping in her chair. "Shit, this case. Even knowing the fed-necks are going to steal it from us, it's all so damn exhausting. Maybe I should tell the captain I want a transfer. Work with Jayne on this stupid drug-dealing high schoolers thing instead."

Mark smirked, sipping the last of his coffee. "You, partnered with Botezatu? Nothing would ever get done," he quipped. "So, how did that whole thing go, anyway? Any leads at the high school?"

"Big old nada," Marielle said. "One of the students freaked out about her friend dying and started smashing shit, and the principal ended up sending everyone home. Chased down a few individual leads afterward, but..." she paused for a moment, her demeanor shifting noticeably, "nothing panned out."

"What was that?" Mark asked. When Marielle looked confused, he pointed at her face. "You had that smile again, the one from this morning." He arched his brow. "Perhaps you heard back from your paramour from last night?"

Marielle shifted her weight in her seat. "Not that it's any of your business," she started to say, before that dreamy smile crept onto her face again, "but I... might have actually run into her while I was out. Turns out she's a Wellspring local."

"Hmm, small world. She works at the school?"

An innocent question, but it seemed to put Marielle on edge. "No, no, it wasn't at the school," she said rapidly. " _Definitely_ not at the school. But she was in the neighborhood, and we got a chance to chat. Going to meet up with her at my place again tonight."

"Interesting, two nights in a row. Should I be expecting a wedding invitation in the mail soon?"

Marielle laughed, the sharp barking sound echoing around the thick concrete walls of the break room. "Oh, probably not," she said. "For _so_ many reasons. She's just a fling, that's it." Her smile faded away, and she started to look a bit nervous. "Hey, this is going to sound weird, but... could you keep this all between us? I know you're not exactly Mr. Gossip around the station, but still... don't go letting everyone know that I'm hooking up with somebody, alright?"

This was new. Normally Marielle was more than happy to go into explicit detail about her sexual exploits, with anyone and everyone willing to listen. Discretion was definitely not in her vocabulary.

Before Mark could question her further, the door to the break room swung open. "Mark," Brianne poked her head in to speak, the administrative assistant looking unusually somber. "They just called up from the lobby. The CCI agents are on their way up."

Mark and Marielle exchanged a look, Marielle dead serious for once. "Thanks, Brianne," Mark said. Once she had left, Mark straightened his tie. "You ready to do this?"

"Hey, I've done this song-and-dance before," Marielle said, rising up from the table. "No problem. Question is, are you ready to speak to the dead, Detective McLoughlin?"

* * *

The whole detective bureau went quiet when the door opened. Despite most of them being in the middle of working active cases, everybody seemed to find an excuse to be hanging out in the hallway when the visitors arrived.

 _Now I understand where the "fed" comes from in their nickname,_ was Mark's first thought as he watched them enter. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the man and woman walking down the hall in their direction could have definitely passed for federal agents. No fancy robes or glimmering lights hovering in the air around them. Just well-tailored black suits, both the man and the woman in slacks, their outfits accentuated with matching sunglasses that kept their eyes hidden behind opaque lenses, along with badges helpfully clipped to their lapels.

The woman, Agent Winther, was dark-skinned and slim of face and build, her black hair trimmed down almost to her scalp. Obviously the older of the two, Mark estimated her age at around 45. She walked at a determined pace, her expression blank as she stared straight in front of her, briefcase loosely clutched in her left hand. At her side, Agent Crosby glanced curiously around the NPA detective bureau, giving quick waves and smiles to the gawking NPA detectives watching he and his partner stride down the hall. He appeared to be much younger than Winther; Mark wouldn't have been surprised if Crosby was half the age of his partner. Chestnut-colored hair swept back across his scalp, his posture and gait were a bit more relaxed then his partner's. Crosby reminded Mark of a campaigning politician, walking with a charming smile next to his stone-faced, no-nonsense bodyguard.

Coming to an abrupt stop in front of him, Winther pivoted her hand outward in Mark's direction. The stiff gesture reminded Mark a little of one of the movies his husband did set-dressing work on: a family sci-fi film where two kids built a robot in their basement and taught it how to act like a human. "Detective McLoughlin," she said, voice low and bland. "Agent Winther."

Her hand was surprisingly cold. _Metal underneath? No, that's absurd._ Mark gave it two perfunctory pumps before releasing his grip. "Pleasure," he said. "You've reviewed the details of the case?"

"Of course," Winther said, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "I trust the victim's remains have been prepared according to our specifications?"

"Wow, all business, this one," Marielle piped up next to Mark. She stuck her hand out with a wide grin. "Marielle Maxwell, Detective McLoughlin's better half."

Winther's hand was in contact with Marielle's for the briefest of moments. "My review of your NPA record would suggest otherwise," she said. After a brief, awkward pause, Winther turned her attention back to Mark. "To repeat my question: has the cadaver been prepared?"

"I forwarded your instructions to our coroner's office. Everything is as you requested," Mark responded. "The morgue is in the basement, whenever you're ready."

There was a long, overly-dramatic sigh from Agent Crosby. "Forgetting something, Nazani?" he said to his partner, before shaking his head and reaching out towards Marielle. "Hugh Crosby, how's it going?"

"Just peachy, thanks for asking," Marielle said, giving Winther a withering glare. "So, which one of you is the spell-flinger?"

Mark looked between the two agents while shaking Crosby's hand, trying to hazard a mental guess. He hadn't dealt much with the CCI, but he knew that there weren't enough eligible casters in Tanglewilde to fill the entire ranks of the coalition. Standard practice was one caster and one normal human in each agent pairing.

"Sorry about that," Crosby said, pivoting his head downward to show off his glowing purple eyes underneath his sunglasses. "Left my owl back at the office. Poor thing's molting all over the place right now, so probably for the best. But I did make sure to bring this," he opened one of the buttons on his suit jacket, revealing a small holster on his side. Mark got a brief glimpse of the simple wooden wand at Crosby's hip, before he refastened his jacket. "So, Nazani... you gonna fill them in on why we're here?"

Even behind those pitch-black lenses, Mark could see the narrowing of Winther's eyes. "Briefly," she said to Mark and Marielle, "I have reason to suspect, detectives, that the victim in your case may have a connection to an ongoing CCI investigation. We'll know more once Agent Crosby has had the opportunity to summon the spirit." A quick thrust of her wrist to check the time on an expensive-looking watch. "Which I would like to get a start on, if we've dispensed with all the necessary pleasantries."

Mark gave Marielle a quick glance, Marielle smirking back at him. _Well, so much for friendly cooperation between agencies._ "Of course," Mark said to Winther. "We'll take the elevator down."

Agent Winther responded with a curt nod, and the four of them headed out of the detective bureau into the fifth-floor lobby.

As they waited awkwardly for an available elevator, Mark gave Winther a cautious glance. "You've reviewed the files, Agent. You know there was no evidence of magic being used in this crime. So what's Tanglewilde's interest in this matter?"

Winther's response was coldly professional. The voice you use when talking to someone you couldn't stand, but were required to treat with civility. "Detective McLoughlin, I would recommend you take the time to familiarize yourself with our operations. The CCI is not solely interested in magical matters. As the chief agency of law enforcement in the city of Tanglewide, it is our duty to respond to any potential threats to our citizenry. Whether that threat be magical or otherwise. And I'm sure you would agree that, should this death be a harbinger of further violence, Tanglewide could very well be pulled into the ensuing crossfire."

That was debatable. In all of the files on Ariano, Mark hadn't seen any mention of him operating in Tanglewilde. Gaultier, either. Of course, it wasn't like gangsters liked to put up signs advertising where they did their crimes. Perhaps Ariano was starting to quietly branch out, establish a foothold in a city where Gaultier had no presence. It was unlikely, but an alliance between Ariano and the caster criminal element of Tanglewilde would definitely even the odds between him and Gaultier.

"So, Hugh," Marielle said to Crosby behind them. "Since you're a caster, guess you've got one of those little fairies or whatever living inside your head, right?"

"You mean my eidolon?" Crosby said. "Yup, sure do. Her name's Delincia, and she's just the sweetest gal you've ever met. I'd let you talk to her, but..." he pointed at his temple. "...she's a bit of a shut-in."

"So, your eidolon thingy, she's a girl?"

"That's how her spirit chooses to represent herself, yes. Technically all eidolons are non-corporeal beings, spirits without a defined form. But the way it was taught to me in school, they're such big fans of us puny humans that they present themselves in our image. They pick faces and bodies for themselves, and that includes genders as well. So, yes, Delincia chose to take the form of a woman."

"I knew it," Marielle said. "It never fails. Every caster I've ever seen, whenever they talk about that spirit in their head... if it's a guy, they've always got a girl eidolon. And when it's a lady caster, the spirit is always a dude."

Crosby nodded. "It is a common occurrence, yes. The last stats I heard, 89 percent of Enjoined casters say that their eidolon identifies as the opposite gender from their own."

"Anybody know why that is? Because I've had a theory for a while now, wanted to run it by a caster like you."

Mark glanced up at the display above the sliding elevator doors, watching as the numbers slowly moved. What the hell was taking it so long?

Behind him, Crosby gave a brief laugh. "Please, Detective Maxwell. I'm all ears."

"Come on, just admit it. You picked a hot little eidolon lady because you wanted to bang her, right?" Marielle said. "All you casters pick your spirit buddies based on which one you think is the hottest."

This brought another laugh out of Crosby. "Well, as the rules of the Enjoining forbid me from speaking of the particulars, I can neither confirm nor deny your theory, detective," he said. "But between you and me... if my girl Delincia had corporeal guts to be all up ins, I'd hit that in a second." He leaned in close to Marielle, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just don't tell my wife, okay? It's bad enough for her that it's technically me _and_ Delincia in bed with her every night."

Mark glanced over at Agent Winther, and was surprised to see her eyes glancing from behind her shades in his direction. An almost inaudible sigh escaped her lips as Crosby and Marielle laughed behind them, and Mark felt a strange moment of kinship with her. _These partners, am I right?_

The elevator doors finally opened, and the four of them crammed inside.

"May I ask what the CCI case is that you think might be connected to ours?" Mark asked as they began their slow descent.

"You may not," Winther bluntly responded. "The particulars of our operations are not of your concern. You're here as a courtesy, Detective McLoughlin. If it is determined over the course of this summoning that this case is not related to CCI interests, you may use the information obtained from the interview to continue your own investigation into the matter. However, if we decide to exercise our jurisdiction over this case, the NPA's continued involvement will not be required... or desired."

This sent Mark into a contemplative silence. This whole situation was getting odder and odder. While he'd never had CCI get involved with one of his cases before today, he had seen it happen to others in the NPA before. And if the angry griping from his fellow detectives was any indication, the CCI _never_ gave a case back to the NPA after being called in for a summoning. Mostly because, once the spirit of the deceased had a chance to tell someone who murdered them, it was usually an open-and-shut case from there. So many cases that NPA detectives had worked on for months, chasing down every lead they could and coming up empty. And then the casters of the CCI would come in, find out the murderer in a matter of minutes, and take all the credit for the collar.

So what about this case was different? Whatever it was, Winther was pursuing it with single-minded determination. She didn't even care about getting the credit for solving Keenan's murder, if it didn't have anything to do with her own investigation. Mark was getting a sense that this was something personal for Winther. Whatever case she was pursuing, it obviously was more than just another job.

The rest of the trip down to the basement was silent, punctuated only by the soft "ding" of the elevator bell as they arrived. Mark took the lead, taking a left down the hallway to where Keenan's body awaited them.

The NPA morgue was a lot smaller than those at your average police precinct. Most of the bodies that dropped on the Network were handled by local city coroners, so no need for a large storage facility in the building. Mark wrinkled his nose as he entered. He could never get used to the smell of formaldehyde that was inextricably mixed with the air in this place.

Scanning the room, Mark nodded in satisfaction. Looked like they had set everything up. Howard Keenan's corpse rested on a gurney in the center of the room. Face nearly unrecognizable from the impact of the pavement, his neck bent at an odd angle. As Winther had asked, the staff had gotten Keenan's body in position and then vacated the area. "Empty room," that was what the email had stated.

Behind him, Mark could hear Winther hiss between her teeth. He turned to see her staring around the room with narrowed eyes. "Something wrong, agent?" he asked her.

"I thought my instructions were quite clear, detective," Winther responded. She gestured towards the body of Howard Keenan in the center of the morgue area. "I asked that the deceased be put in an empty room. I was very specific about that request."

Mark looked around their surroundings in confusion. "All due respect, agent, I'm not sure how much more empty we could make this room," Mark said. "The medical staff has been asked not to enter this room for the next hour, and all other cadavers have been placed away in storage."

Striding across the morgue, Winther slapped her palm against one of the thick metal doors, behind which some unlucky individual's body had been stored. "These doors, detective." She pointed at a rolling tray loaded with medical tools. "That equipment. 'Empty,' detective, that was what I requested. That is what is required." She scanned around the room, disgusted. "The last time I conducted a spirit summoning in this building, there was a room specifically set aside for this purpose. No furnishings, no distinguishing features. What happened to that place?"

Mark shook his head. Whatever she was talking about, it must have been before his time on the NPA. He looked over at Marielle, who shifted nervously. "Yeah, I remember that room," she said. "One of the deputy chiefs was unhappy about the size of his office, so they converted that room into a new one for him."

"I'm not sure why it matters," Mark said. "The room is what it is. Are storage units and medical tools really going to keep you from raising the dead?"

Winther looked at her partner, Crosby cocking his head at her with a raised brow. Turning back with an expression meant to communicate her endless reserves of patience, Winther spoke to Mark in a low, condescending tone. "This must be your first summoning, detective."

Mark had obviously said something wrong. "It is, yes," he responded, trying to remain confident in the face of the CCI agent's attitude.

"Well, let me explain what is about to happen, since you're new to this," Winther continued, pointing a well-manicured finger at Keenan's corpse. "We're going to summon this man's spirit back into this world. Pull him away from whatever consciousness awaits us all once we die, and bring him into the land of the living. As you can imagine, this can be an extremely traumatic experience. A trauma we try to minimize as much as possible, by obscuring the circumstances of their return."

"Put it another way," Crosby chimed in, "we're trying not to make it too obvious to the dead guy that he's... well, dead. Kinda freaks them out a little if they figure it out. Who can say why, it's a mystery," he quipped.

"Exactly. And it's difficult to keep this grim truth from the spirit when the first thing he sees is, for example, the inside of a morgue," Winther said. Gesturing around the room at the body storage and autopsy implements, she frowned at Mark. "So, to answer your question, Detective McLoughlin: no, none of this will _prevent_ us from raising the dead. But it carries the potential to unnecessarily upset the spirit."

Mark furrowed his brow. He was uncomfortable enough with this whole set-up. A greater understanding of what was happening had only made him more anxious. "So, you're going to be lying to him?" he asked. "Make him think that he's not actually dead? Don't you find that the least bit unconscionable, Agent Winther?"

"No, I do not. Because the alternative is, we upset the spirit so much that it remains here forever," Winther coolly responded. "Spirits that are put under great emotional stress can end up being bound into the physical plane. Trapped between life and death, never finding any sort of rest. This is why it is vital that the spirit not be made aware of its circumstances. In a proper summoning, we bring back the deceased, ask the necessary questions, and allow the spirit to pass back into the afterlife without it ever becoming aware of its true nature. The implications of a botched summoning are... not acceptable."

"This whole process... if I had any idea what it actually entailed, I would have never agreed to it."

"Well, as it turns out, detective, your approval is not required for the CCI to conduct this ritual," Winther said, her tone blunt. "If the thought of what is about to occur upsets you, you are free to leave before we begin. I'm sure your partner will be happy to represent the NPA in this matter."

Mark bristled at her condescension, but ultimately shook his head. "No, I'll stay. If it's going to happen regardless, I should be here," he said, pulling out a small notebook. "For the good of the case."

A small smile actually came to Winther's face. "I don't think you'll be getting much use out of that," she said, pointing at his notebook. "As my instructions were not followed, my partner and I will have to make alternate arrangements."

Before Mark could ask what that meant, Winther set down her briefcase on a nearby countertop. Mark was surprised to see what was inside: not files or paperwork, but a variety of various magical implements. Vials of various liquids and physical spell components, rune-encrusted stones, and even a dowsing rod.

From this bizarre array of items, Winther retrieved a set of eight thick candles, along with a mundane propane lighter. A few flicks to spark the flame, and Winther began touching the fire to the candle wicks.

"Do me a favor, detective," Winther said as she went around the room, setting the lit candles atop various pieces of furniture in the morgue. "Could you turn off the lights, please?"

"I've got it," Marielle said from the side of the room, flicking the switch down once Winther had placed all of the candles. The room was immediately cast in almost total blackness, Howard Keenan's body and the offending morgue furnishings now shrouded in thick shadows. The soft flicker of the candles laid around the room were the only illumination.

 _I guess that's one way to make a room appear empty,_ Mark thought. He tucked his notebook away, knowing there was no way he'd be able to see to write. He'd just have to commit to memory what was about to occur.

"One last thing before we begin," Agent Winther said to Mark and Marielle. It was hard to believe that she could look even more intimidating, but with dim candle light flickering from below, she looked like some sort of evil phantom herself. "The process of summoning a spirit is very delicate. Any distractions could prove disastrous. Once we have begun, the two of you will not speak. You will keep all unnecessary movement to a minimum. And you will not interact in any way with me, my partner, or the deceased. Any actions you take that impede the CCI and its operations will be reported to your superior officers. If you feel that you are unable to abide by these constraints, I will give you the next ten seconds to vacate the area."

Winther paused, waiting for either Mark or Marielle to leave. After the allotted time had passed, she turned to Crosby. "Shall we begin?"

Reaching to his hip, the younger agent retrieved his wand. A light blue glow from the tip added a new point of illumination to the dimmed room. "Ready, Freddy," he said, the gleam of his pearly white teeth visible in the shadows. Closing his eyes, he began mouthing inaudible words, moving his wand around in sweeping arches in the direction of Keenan's body.

Mark walked over to stand next to Marielle, already feeling the room starting to bristle with arcane energy. This was the first time Mark had been in the presence of a real caster. He'd had a few perps fling rudimentary spells in his direction. But that was basic magic, stuff that even someone like Marielle could pull off if she just had a little more patience. What was happening at the moment was true sorcery, the kind that only enjoined casters were able to accomplish.

He felt a sudden urge to leave the room. Dart out of the door and run. There was something building in the air. That energy in the air was growing as Crosby's motions became more and more elaborate. Mark could feel the hairs on his arms stand up straight. He glanced over to Marielle, seeing his usually casual and flippant partner watching the proceedings with rapt attention.

 _I've gotten to see three CCI 'spirit interviews.' And every time, it's just about the creepiest shit you could imagine,_ Marielle had said. But she didn't look disturbed, not at all. A memory came to Mark, many years ago from when his school had gone on a field trip to the circus. Mark remembered all of the other kids watching the proceedings in the center ring with awe-struck expressions. They looked like Marielle did now, eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Focusing all their attention on the amazing sights in front of them.

But not Mark. Mark had felt miserable the whole time. The gaudily-painted clowns, forced smiles smeared onto their faces. The captive animals, driven to perform tricks by their cruel masters. The off-key music screeching out of speakers overhead. It was all so... so wrong. Unnatural.

He started to hear something, a strange, high-pitched tone. Barely audible, but once Mark noticed it, it was all he could focus on. It almost sounded like... singing. Like a distant choir of voices. The sound was grating, discordant. He wanted to put his hands over his ears, but somehow he knew that it wouldn't help. It wasn't his ears that were hearing that sound. It was some other part of him. A part that wouldn't show up on any medical diagrams.

It was a good thing he was clenching his teeth so hard. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to prevent himself from yelling out. Demanding that this all stop. But that wasn't an option. Once CCI was called in, interfering in their operations was a one-way ticket to an early retirement. Even for someone as well-respected in the NPA as Mark was, he'd never get away with it.

The soft blue glow from Crosby's wand had now covered his entire body. A few seconds later, that glow could now be seen pulsing from Keenan's body. The sound was getting louder now. Emanating from the corpse. Mark fought the urge to scream as he saw the light begin to take shape. Form itself into a vague human silhouette, that began taking on the features of the man himself.

Before long, Keenan's corpse was completely surrounded by the glowing spirit of its former occupant. Mark could hear Marielle gasp beside him, as the spirit sat up.

"What the... the hell am I?" the spirit said. The voice was quiet and echoey. Like a man shouting up from the bottom of a deep well. "Can't see a damn thing in here."

"Mr. Keenan, you're awake," Winther said, taking a step in the direction of the gurney. "Try to remain calm. There's been an accident, but you're alright now."

"Accident?" Keenan's ghost said, looking around the room. "What are you talking about? Why's it so dark in here?" The ghost turned in the direction of Crosby, still waving his wand and wordlessly reciting incantations. The spectral features of the spirit tightened, squinting as if trying to focus on something it couldn't quite see. "What's that? Somebody there?"

"Never mind about that now," Winther said. "We need to talk about what happened. What's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

The spirit looked back at Winther, a frown on his bearded, semi-transparent face. "The hell you asking me for? Who are you? Did Eddie send you?"

"That's right," Winther said, the lie coming out without any apparent effort. If what she had said before all this started was true, about keeping the departed from realizing their circumstances, she probably lied to spirits on a regular basis. "Mr. Ariano wants to make sure that you're alright, and your faculties weren't affected by what happened. So please, tell me what happened, in as much detail as possible."

"Last thing I..." Keenan said, trailing off. His glowing hands patted at his chest. "What did you do to me? 'm I doped or something? Can't feel my body at all."

"Focus, Mr. Keenan," Winther said. "The last thing you remember."

"I was in my office in Chapel City," the spirit said, staring off into the blackness around him. "Guy from the security desk downstairs walks in, says there's somebody who needs to speak to me." He sneered into space. "The hell was he thinking? Letting up some random asshole off the street like that? He knows the procedure. Appointments only. I'm a busy guy."

"Yes, I'm sure," Winther said. "This person that the security guard brought up... do you remember what he looked like?"

"He was..." the spirit paused again. "I can't... what the hell? I'm trying to think, but it's like... like there's something over his face or something. A... cloud or something. Can't make it out." He bared his teeth. "Is somebody fucking with my head? Why the fuck can't I remember, dammit?" His tone was frustrated, and Mark sucked in a breath as he saw the spirit's glow slowly shift from blue to red.

Winther frowned. "Never mind that," she said, drawing back Keenan's attention. She kept her tone calm, standard operating procedure for a witness who becomes agitated. Even in such unusual circumstances, the usual rules applied, Mark supposed. "What happened after the guard came in?"

"I told him to leave, that I wasn't meeting with anyone," Keenan's ghost said, his aura slowly shifting back to the "default" blue. "But the guard let him in anyway. Guy walks in, wearing some hooded sweater thing pulled up. He says to the guard... what was it? Something like 'Go back to the lobby, and forget you were here.' Guard just nods and leaves, just like that."

Even in the dark, Mark could see the change in Winther's expression. Something about what Keenan's spirit had just said had lit a fire under her. "What happened next?" she asked, excitement at the edge of her voice. "What did he say to you?"

"He told me to forget his face," Keenan said. "Then he said that I couldn't move or speak until he told me I could." The spirit's face tightened again. "Was gonna tell him to fuck off, but I... I couldn't make myself say it. Tried to stand up, couldn't do that either. Felt like I was paralyzed."

Mark wondered how accurate the memories of this spirit really were. What he was describing didn't seem possible. Being able to control a person's actions with just words... that would require powerful magic of some kind. But there was no evidence of magic use in Keenan's office. So how had this mysterious visitor pulled it off?

Winther continued her questioning. "And after that? Did he say anything else to you?"

The next words out of the spirit made Mark squint in confusion. He had heard the words clearly, but they didn't make any sense.

"What was that?" Winther asked, as confused as Mark. "Could you repeat that, please?"

"Like I said," Keenan said, the ghost sounding a little annoyed. "He wanted to know how to get in touch with the void. I ain't supposed to tell anyone about that, but when he asked... I couldn't help myself. I told him how to reach the void."

Winther actually looked back at Mark at that point, seeing if he understood what this meant. Mark shook his head, making the motion slow and subtle to not violate the CCI's instructions. Winther turned back around to the spirit and opened her mouth to question him further.

"There was more," Keenan's spirit said before Winther could speak. "He said something else, told me to remember the words exactly." There was a pause, and Keenan hissed in a breath through his incorporeal lungs. "Shit, I remember it now. That fucking Malevankan bastard. Should have known that he'd try something like this."

"Like what?" Winther asked, already forgetting the comment about the "void" in her excitement. "What did he tell you to remember?"

"He said, 'To the CCI agents listening: consider this our only warning. You cannot stop what's coming. All of your sorcery is nothing compared to what we are capable of. This man is just the beginning. By the time we're finished, the streets of the Network will be painted in the blood of Ariano and his associates. No one goes against Ambrose Gaultier without repercussion."

The words sent a chill through Mark. _A message, conveyed by murder._ Whoever had done this, they had known that the CCI would summon Keenan's spirit. And now they were taunting them with that knowledge.

But even more than that, Mark reeled with the implication of that message. _Was I wrong? I had been so sure after meeting with Gaultier that he had nothing to do with this. But if this message is true..._

"I remember more," Keenan's spirit said, continuing to speak with Winther's prompting. "The guy told me to stand up. Walk over to the window." The ghost began shifting in color again, to a sickly-looking yellow. "He told me that he was going to teach me how to fly. That all I had to do was jump through the window, and that I would get to fly, just like a bird. 'Take a few steps back,' he said. Then he told me to run. And I..."

"Enough, Hugh," Winther said, turning to her partner. "Send him back."

"I was falling," Keenan said. The spirit's eyes went wide. "Oh, fuck, I was-"

Before Keenan's ghost could recall his own death, Crosby made a sharp motion with his wand. The image of Keenan faded into wisps of blue smoke.

"Hit the lights," Winther said. Once the room was illuminated again, Mark could see the change in her. While her expression remained as blank as before, there was an eager gleam in her eyes. She began extinguishing the candles around the room, moving rapidly as she gathered them back up. "Thank you for cooperating, detectives," she said, not even looking in their direction as she spoke. "The CCI will be handling the matter of Howard Keenan's murder going forward."

"Goddamn it, Nazani," Crosby said, shoving his wand back into its holder with a rough motion. The man who had worn a jovial smile over the entire time Mark had known him now glared at his partner in disapproval. "Gaultier again? I thought we were done with this."

Winther put away the candles and snapped her briefcase shut. "We can discuss this later, Hugh," she said, in that tell-tale tone of voice. Like she was trying to shut down a lover's quarrel before it caused a public scene. Looking back at Mark, she said, "I will be needing all of your files and evidence related to the Keenan murder before we leave."

Crosby stepped forward. "I'll take Detective McLoughlin up to go get them, Nazani. You can finish up here with Detective Maxwell." He turned to Mark, snapping his brow upward. "You ready?"

Mark caught the agent's hint and nodded. The two of them headed out of the morgue and into the basement hallway.

Once they were away from his partner, Crosby muttered several words under his breath. Mark had no idea what they meant – must have been in the local Tanglewilde dialect – but the tone made the general meaning quite clear. "Sorry, detective," he said to Mark, leaning against a nearby wall. "If I had known that Nazani was back on her Gaultier bullshit, I would have never let her come here."

Crosby reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a small, brightly-colored package. "You a smoker, detective?" he asked. Mark shook his head, eliciting a grin from the caster. "Good call," he said, pulling out a stick of gum and jamming it into his mouth. "Used to be one, 'til we had the kid and my wife made me quit. Funny thing, though. I never had the urge until I was Enjoined. But how'm I gonna tell my wife that it's not me with the nicotine habit? It's the lady who lives in my head." He laughed, lips smacking as he chewed on the wad of gum. "Still, I do miss it. Always calmed my nerves."

"Try meditation," Mark said. "It's the only thing that works for me."

"Not a bad idea." Crosby stared at the ceiling, muttering another curse. "They're going to give us so much shit when we get back to HQ. Last thing they want to do is waste resources going after Gaultier again."

"So, you've investigated Gaultier in the past?"

Crosby shook his head. "Not me, nah. But Nazani, she's been looking for any excuse to make him an active case again. Never going to forgive the guy for what happened the last time."

Mark waited, getting the sense that this was a story Crosby wanted to share. Sure enough, it didn't take long for him to speak up again.

"So, my partner, real barrel of laughs, huh? You know that I'm the eighth partner she's had in the last seventeen years? All the ones before me either got sick of her and asked for a transfer, or she cut them loose when they didn't meet her standards. None of them could ever live up to _him._ " He said the last word with faux veneration, as if talking about some mythical hero. "Special Agent Jay Kantlief, best and the brightest in the history of the CCI. Or at least that's how Nazani tells it. The two of them were unstoppable back in their prime. Until she and him started sniffing into the Gaultier syndicate. Back in the bad days, when screwing with Gaultier was pretty much a one-way ticket to joining old Howard back there in an early grave."

Mark thought back to that meeting in the limo. Even hearing Gaultier's name straight from the ghost of a man murdered at his order, he still couldn't make himself believe it. He had been face-to-face with a lot of hideous people in his time on the force. Men whose crimes turned his stomach, and who had done horrible things without a hint of remorse. And Mark hadn't seen any of that in Gaultier. Not at all.

"Thing is, they got off easy at first," Crosby continued his story. "Gaultier dug up some dirt on Kantlief, manage to drag his name through the mud and get him drummed out of the CCI. Whole thing should have ended there, but I think Kantlief took it personal. Changed his name to dodge the scandal, moved away from Tanglewilde and went private, and just kept working at bringing Gaultier down." He paused, blowing out a large pink bubble from between his lips before letting it pop. He sucked the gum back between his teeth and continued. "Guess he must have gotten close to something big, because Gaultier delivered an even clearer message the next time. Sent one of his men with a sniper rifle to Kantlief's house... had them put a bullet in his wife's head. Right in front of their seven-year-old daughter, too. After that... well, needless to say the guy wasn't going to fuck around with Gaultier anymore. But that just pissed off Nazani even more. Ever since then, she's been digging around, trying to finally nail Gaultier on something." Crosby shrugged. "Guess she finally found her chance. And it only took sixteen years."

"Sixteen years?" Mark asked. "That much time, and she wasn't able to tie Gaultier to anything?"

Crosby turned to a nearby trashcan, spitting out his gum. "Gaultier was good. The best at being an absolute monster. No matter how many bloody crime scenes he left, there was never anything to directly tie him to the crime. We scooped up plenty of his people, but none of them would ever talk." Crosby shivered a little, and pulled out the package in his pocket for a fresh piece of gum. "Not a damn thing we could threaten them with that was worse than what Gaultier would do if he found out. She got close a few times. At least, that's how she tells it. But then... well, the bad days ended."

"What does that mean?"

"It's the thing about Gaultier, detective," Crosby said. "For the longest time, he was one of the most vicious mobsters in the entire Network. Body after body dropped by his people, each kill more bloody and painful than the last. But a few years ago... it all just stopped. The hits in broad daylight, the flayed corpses strung up in high-rise office buildings. All of it just stopped happening. It was like Gaultier took a vow of non-violence, just out of nowhere." Crosby shrugged. "Funny thing, you'd think that the other big mob guys would take that as a sign of weakness. But Gaultier had been so vicious, for so long... I think nobody wanted to ever test him again. Like that old proverb about 'awakening the sleeping giant.' None of those other mob guys wanted to be the one to bring the old Gaultier back."

"So, nobody knows why the violence stopped?" Mark asked.

"No idea. But whatever happened, Gaultier's been a good boy ever since then. Well, 'good' in a relative sense. The man still runs illegal contraband, manages underground gambling halls and fighting rings... all that happy stuff. But the worst we've been able to link him to lately have been a few bad beatings." He gave Mark a smirk. "It's why almost nobody at the CCI wants to mess around with Gaultier anymore. As long as he doesn't start shooting up Tanglewilde, we'd rather not test him. Nobody wants to take the risk, end up like good old Agent Kantlief. Except for Nazani, of course." Shaking his head, he gestured towards Mark. "Speaking of the devil herself, guess we better go fetch those files. Can't keep my partner waiting when she's on the trail of her great white whale, right?"

The two of them walked to the elevator. There was something still bothering Mark about his encounter with the departed Howard Keenan. Thinking back to that hollow, echoing voice, he finally remembered. "You heard what the spirit said, right?" he asked Crosby as they waited for the elevator. "How his killer was able to control his actions verbally?"

"Yeah," Crosby said. Despite his previous verbosity, he seemed reluctant to speak further on this particular topic.

But Mark pressed him. "Forensics scrubbed the scene. No signs of magic usage. So however he killed Keenan, it couldn't have been a spell."

"That's a fair assessment, yeah," Crosby said. He turned to Mark, expression serious. "Look, you seem like a decent enough guy, Mark. So take my advice: try not to see losing this case as a bad thing. I know what cops like you are like. Not looking for glory or recognition, you just want to clear the cases. But take it from a guy who's seen way too much in my four years in the CCI: this is one mystery you don't want to solve." He spat his second piece of gum into a trash can as the elevator opened. "For the sake of your own sanity."


	5. Willful

Lara slugged back the rest of her scotch and soda, her third of the evening, in one swallow. Tossing the empty glass onto the table, she took a sneering glance around the bar from the table where the two of them had sat, and made her grumpy proclamation. "Hate this place."

Forced smile firmly in place, Clio took a gamble on disagreeing with her unpleasant drinking companion. "I kinda like it, actually," she said. "Seems like it's got a real friendly atmosphere." _Which is probably why you can't stand it,_ she added on as a mental addendum.

What were they even doing here? This whole outing should have cancelled the second that Isabella got that text. A "last minute work thing," she had said, in between a string of apologies. "But you two should still go out drinking," she had told Clio and Lara, with a strangely forceful emphasis. "It'll be a nice opportunity to get to know each other, since we'll be living together and all."

Isabella had made sure to give Lara a particularly hard stare with those last words. Combined with her tone of voice, even Clio picked up the message that Isabella was sending to her roommate: you _will_ be going out together, or else.

Still, with Lara's rebellious nature, Clio was almost certain that the evening would have been called off the second that Isabella was out of sight. But no such luck. A few minutes from 8:00, Lara had knocked on her bedroom door, jacket already on. "Let's get this over with, okay?" she'd said. Always a good indicator of a fun-filled evening ahead.

So, they had come to the bar Isabella had recommended, the Tower Inn. Almost immediately, Clio had fallen in love with the place. A warm and cozy atmosphere, with that particular flair of Vierraden culture in the design of the building and the interior decoration. Peppy but unobtrusive music playing on the jukebox, friendly waitstaff, and just a general convivial atmosphere. A little crowded, but not uncomfortably so. She'd have to come here again sometime with her camera to get a few pictures. Bring Isabella along for a chat, maybe. Or have a few drinks with Amedeo after Little Bro had gotten done with his big move.

Yeah, she'd love to come here with just about anyone else... other than the person she was currently with. Ever since they had arrived and put in their drink orders, it had been like pulling teeth to even make Lara talk. And even when she did, it wasn't long before Clio's attempts to make friendly conversation led to Lara hurling passive-aggressive – and sometimes just plain aggressive – insults at her.

Clio could have just shut her mouth, drank her mojito, and waited out the evening. But she hated awkward silences, always felt the uncontrollable urge to fill it with something. And whether either of them liked it or not, Clio was going to be Lara's roommate for the foreseeable future. Isabella had been right to push them into this. Even if in the moment, Clio was absolutely miserable.

"Of course you'd like this place," Lara said, signaling for one of the traditionally-dressed waitresses for another drink while refusing to make eye contact with Clio. "Cheery little pisshole like this. Can't even smoke in here, for fuck's sake."

"We could go somewhere else if you want," Clio offered. "There's this great place over in Etheridge me and my brother went to all the time back in college. Outdoor seating so you can smoke if you want. Or there's a nice bar back in Huaca Brava you might like."

"Yeah, right," Lara said. "I go drinking in that filthy-ass town, liable to catch a fucking stomach parasite or something. Nah, let's just have a few more drinks here and wrap this up." She rested her chin on her palm, drumming the fingers of her other hand on the surface of the table. "Can't believe Isabella dragged me into this."

"It's a shame she couldn't come along with us," Clio said, trying her best to move past Lara's insulting attitude towards her home. She was getting the distinct feeling she would have to move past a lot of things if she wanted to keep living at the lighthouse. "I wonder who the big celebrity is that she's running errands for tonight." She leaned in, lowering her voice slightly. "Does Isabella ever talk about that sort of thing with you? The people she works with? I know her firm has all those confidentiality agreements, but she has to have let something slip, right?"

"Nah, she keeps her lips zipped tight," Lara said, taking a glass from one of the skirted barmaids as she passed, and taking a long glance at the woman's ass as she sauntered away. "Not that I'd give a shit anyway. Fucking celebrities. 's not like acting or singing or..." she briefly glanced over at Clio with a sneer, "...taking pictures makes you any better than anyone else. I could put up with that job, that's for damn sure. Some asshole like Kyron Collins came around to _me_ in the middle of the night asking me to fetch him some silk toilet paper or whatever, I'd take that wand of his and shove it down his pisshole."

 _Wow, something we actually have in common: hating Kyron Collings,_ Clio mused, remembering her dreadful encounter with the caster pop star. But she _definitely_ wasn't going to go into detail about that experience with Lara. Knowing her charming roommate, Lara would probably just laugh at Clio being sexually harassed. Tell her she deserved it for being so naïve and trusting.

"So, what about you, Lara?" Clio asked, doing her best to keep up the façade of this being an actual friendly night out for drinks. "Isabella never told me what you do for a living. Think you mentioned something before about being at a club last night."

Lara rolled her eyes, as if responding to Clio's innocent query was the height of aggravation. Still, it was better than her hurling insults in Clio's direction. "Private security shit," she said. "Bodyguard work, do some bouncing on occasion. If you're somebody on the Network who doesn't want to be fucked with, you give me a call."

"Wow, sounds exciting. And dangerous."

Lara responded with a smirk. "For a scrawny little thing like you, picture girl, definitely. Half the shit I deal with every night, would probably would make you piss those pretty pink panties of yours." She groaned, rising up to her feet. "Speaking of which... gonna go mix up some warm lemonade. Try not to miss me too much."

Clio let out her breath the instant that Lara was through the restroom door and out of sight. She glanced over at the bar's main entrance, the glowing "EXIT" sign like a beacon of hope from some merciful god. _I should just leave. I should just walk out of here, not put up with any of Lara's crap anymore._

But therein lied the dilemma. There was no "EXIT" from having Lara Durham in her life. Not unless she packed up her things and left her new home, less than a day after arriving. Which, of course, was exactly what Lara was hoping for.

It was inevitable. No matter where she went tonight, in the end she'd have to go back to the lighthouse. And Lara would be there waiting for her, no doubt with a dozen more cutting remarks.

 _Give it time,_ said a voice in her head, the sweet tone of Isabella. _It's only been a few days since you've met._

Yeah, and even in that short amount of time, Lara had been making every moment that the two of them spent together absolutely miserable. Even with her officially moved in, Lara showed no signs of dropping the hostile attitude from their first meeting.

Still, Clio was a Quaday. And Quadays don't give up that easily. Steeling herself for what was to come when Lara returned, Clio made up her mind to stay. Weather all of Lara's abuse for as long as she could.

"Rough date, huh?"

Clio looked up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Standing beside her table was an average-looking man. Young, brown hair, well-trimmed beard. Kind of a cute smile, even if Clio really wasn't in the mood for what it foretold. Definitely would look better with a little sun. That pale skin of his made him look like this bar jaunt was his first trip outside in weeks.

"Oh, it's not a date," she quickly said. "It's just... a new roommate thing. We're still getting used to each other."

With a nod, the pale stranger boldly moved to sit down, taking the seat that Lara had just vacated.

Great, just what Clio was afraid of. Not that the guy was unattractive, even with the chalky complexion. But the last thing she wanted – tonight, of all nights – was to get hit on by some rando. And she didn't want to think about what Lara would do if she got back from the restroom and saw some dude sitting in her seat. She started to open her mouth, politely ask the pale stranger to scram.

"Let me just say something, only take a second," the man said, and Clio found herself immediately shutting her mouth. "See, here's what I would do in your situation. Not gonna say I'm an expert in roommate drama, but if I were you, I'd definitely listen to what I'm about to say, and do everything I tell you to do."

Who the hell was this guy? Thinking he could barge in like this and tell her what to do? Clio wanted to tell him to go away. But for some reason, the words just weren't coming out.

The man leaned forward on the table, staring deeply into Clio's eyes. "When your roommate comes back," he said, tone low and husky, "you let her have it. Tell her exactly what you think about her, in the harshest way possible." He gestured towards the exit that Clio had been longingly staring at a few seconds earlier. "Then, you stand up and walk out. There's a park just across the street, lovely stream running through it. Walk to that park, go down the hill to the benches by the water, and take a few breaths to calm yourself down." He leaned back, the corner of his mouth twitching upward slightly. "That's what I would do if I was you. And that's what you should definitely do when she gets back."

Before Clio could summon the words to respond, the man stood up, glancing over his shoulder at the restroom doors. When he saw the ladies' room door swing open, the stranger made his way back to his table without another word.

That was weird. Definitely one of the strangest attempts at flirting Clio had ever seen. And college had given her no shortage of experiences in that. As she tried to process what had just happened, Lara tossed herself back into her seat.

"Shit, not wasting any time, huh?" Lara said with a sneering grin, glancing over at the stranger returning to his table across the bar, where he sat alone with a full beer in his hand. "Hey, just remember: you bring any dudes home, you gotta wash the jizz out of your own sheets, babe. And try to keep the squealing down, okay?" She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Ugh, the thought of hearing that squeaky little voice through the wall, begging for that hard cock? Makes me wanna fucking puke even imagining it."

When Clio said nothing, Lara let out an insincere coo. "Aw, did I offend the little Huaca Brava princess?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from every syllable as she took a swig of her drink. "Or you just busy dreaming about getting on your knees for that pale little prick?" She gave the strange man another stare, her vicious smile slowly receding. "Shit, maybe you better give that one a pass, picture girl. Thinking maybe he's-"

Clio's fist came down hard on the table, the loud bang echoing around the small bar and rattling her near-empty glass. "Oh my God, would you please shut the hell up?"

Her sudden outburst drew several stares from the nearly-full bar, the patrons sneaking peeks at an obvious scene brewing. Lara, meanwhile, was stunned into silence, eyes wide as Clio slapped her palms down on the table and fixed Lara with a fiery glare.

"Goddamn, just get over it, already!" Clio said, loud and vicious. "I know what this is about. You're pissed because I took the room that Kyra used to have. Do you really think you're the only person who's had their heart broken? Who's had to watch somebody walk out of their lives and be helpless to stop it? My boyfriend dumped me a few months ago, so I know how much it hurts. But you don't see me throwing a tantrum about it like a little baby." She jabbed a finger in Lara's direction. "You ever think, for one second, that the reason Kyra didn't feel the same way about you is because you're a hateful, immature, vulgar little bitch?"

Lara said nothing. Clio would have expected her to be furious. Teeth gritted, eyes narrowed in murderous rage. But instead, her expression was slack. Maybe even a little wounded. Clio felt a brief pang of sympathy, but tamped it down.

"Get this straight," Clio said, knowing she was making a scene but unable to stop herself. "That room is mine. Kyra's not coming back, and I'm the one who's living there now. So you've got two choices. You can either grow the hell up, accept it, and at least try to be a decent human being. Or... you can go back home, shut yourself in your bedroom, and leave me the hell alone!"

Shoving her chair back, Clio jumped up to her feet, feeling everyone in the bar shooting stares at her. A few steps towards the exit, she whirled back to face Lara, finger raised in the air. "And my name is Clio. Not 'princess.' Not 'babe.' And not 'picture girl.' Clio. Better remember it, because I'm not going anywhere."

Spinning around again, Clio barged out of the bar into the crisp night air. As she felt the cold breeze on her bare arms, she realized that she had forgotten her jacket hanging on the chair, her phone in the front pocket.

Well, too late now. She definitely wasn't spoiling such a dramatic exit by slinking back inside for her coat.

Besides, she had somewhere she had to be. Her body moving on autopilot, she walked across the street to the park entrance. She had noticed it earlier in the evening after stepping through the portal, making a mental note to come back with her camera later for some nature shots. The guy in the bar was right. It really was a beautiful park.

Inside of the park, she made her way down a hilly path, tall lights barely illuminating the dim concrete in the dark of night. As she walked, the adrenaline of her fierce rant started to fade. Her initial satisfaction with telling Lara off was quickly replaced with panic.

_Shit, what did I just do? What just got into me? Lara's going to kill me. She's going to come to my room tonight with a knife, and she's going to murder me in my sleep. I can't believe I brought up Kyra like that. Isabella told me that in confidence, and I just spat it out._

There were the benches, right by the babbling stream just like the guy had said. Clio wasn't sure why she was doing this. Why she felt so driven to follow the instructions of some stranger to the letter. But her body was moving by instinct, directing her through the darkened, empty park and over to where the metal benches overlooked the flowing water.

Stopping in her tracks, Clio took several deep breaths. _It's fine. It's all fine. Not like that horrible woman could hate you any more than she already did. And you've got Isabella in your corner, too._

But as friendly as her other new roommate was, would she really take Clio's side over the woman who had already lived there for however long? Or decide that it was easier to just cut Clio loose and start over in her hunt for a new roommate?

Clio shivered again. Dammit, why hadn't she grabbed her jacket on the way out? Clutching herself, she paced through the grass, glistening with dew, and tried to decide what to do next.

"Well done."

The voice from behind her made Clio jolt. She turned to see the pale-skinned man from the bar, slowly walking in her direction with a casual smile.

 _This is bad,_ Clio thought. Whatever this man had done to her, it had made her come here. To a deserted park in the dead of night, down a hill where nobody from the street outside would be able to see what was happening.

"Don't move," the man said just as Clio made a step backwards. Clio found herself held in place. "Is something the matter?" he said as he took another step towards her.

Clio struggled to speak between gasping breaths. "Please," she said, trembling now from more than just the cold. "I need to go."

"Oh, I see," the man said, grin widening as he took another step. "You think I'm one of _those_ type of men. The type to force himself on a woman sexually. Well, I promise you that I have no such vulgar intentions. So, please, calm down. You are not afraid of me. In fact, you feel comforted by my presence. Safe."

Clio blinked, a strange feeling of warmth suddenly radiating through her body. He was right. She _did_ feel safe around him. Why should be afraid of such a nice, friendly person like him? Even as he moved in close, inches away from her, she felt no urge to flee. Even if a tiny voice in the back of her mind was screaming, pleading for her to run.

But she didn't need to run. She was safe.

"Now, hold still," the pale man said. He reached a hand up to rest on the top of her head, moving it gently to the side and exposing Clio's bare neck. "This won't hurt a bit, I promise."

Clio closed her eyes, waiting for the touch of the stranger's lips on her neck. But after a few seconds of waiting, she felt the man's hand suddenly yanked away from her body. There was the sound of a scuffle, Clio opening her eyes to see someone shoving the stranger away from her.

"Get the fuck away from her," Lara spat, narrowed brown eyes staring down at the ground.

Clio turned to her left, seeing the man pick himself up off the grass. "Hey, everything's fine," he said, still sounding casual despite having just been shoved to the ground. "Me and your roommate were just getting to know each other. You should just calm down, walk away, and forget you ever saw this."

Clio saw Lara's expression go slack for a moment, starting dully at the man. After a moment, she winced as if she was in pain, gritting her teeth and clenching her muscles. "You fucking... don't try to pull that shit on me," she snapped. "I know what you are, and your tricks won't work on me. Get your ass back to Malevanka, shitbird, before I send you back myself. Your kind isn't welcome in Vierraden."

The furious, well-muscled Lara must have been an intimidating sight for most people, but the man just laughed in her face. When he spoke again, his words were in another language, one that Clio had never heard before. " _Ut, i joo ih nef. Chea quajh zo hto tanhok. Fopp, room cheak quekjop wek nef. Nodh hiquo fo quooh, i fipp neh zo upeno._ "

" _Zkinv uj quunch uj chea funh, zihok. I fipp hakn chea upp inhe xajh_ ," Lara responded back, her harsh tone making the strange language sound like a string of indecipherable curses.

Whatever Lara had said didn't dampen the stranger's mood. "Well, then. I suppose I should be going. Have a lovely evening, both of you," he said, nodding at both of them in turn before brushing roughly past Lara and walking away into the darkness of the night.

Lara turned, watching his retreating silhouette until it had faded completely into the blackness. "The fuck is one of _them_ doing in Vierraden?" she spoke quietly, more to herself than to Clio. "Gonna have to talk to the boss about this."

"What... what just happened?" Clio said. "That guy, he was... I couldn't make myself move when he..."

Lara turned back to Clio with a stony expression. "Forget about it. Just some asshole playing around with magic to get his sick thrills. Had a feeling about him back at the bar, and when he followed you out, knew he was up to some shit."

Magic. Clio had been mildly fascinated by it once. But between Kyron Collins and now tonight, every experience that she'd had with it over the past few days had been among the worst of her life. If Lara hadn't been there to chase the guy off...

Clio and Lara stared at each other, Clio dreading the outburst that she was certain was coming. For a few minutes, the trickle of water from the nearby stream and the loud creaking of crickets was the only sound.

Finally, Lara tossed something in Clio's direction. Clio flinched as it hit her chest and instinctually grabbed the soft object. In her disordered state, it took her a moment to recognize her own jacket.

"You left that," Lara said. Her tone was different, not the harsh one that Clio had gotten used to. Subdued and level. "Pretty cold out tonight."

"Oh. Thanks," Clio responded, sliding the jacket on and grateful to feel the warm inner lining of the sleeves against her goose-bump covered arms.

Another long bout of silence. "Hey, come here a second," Lara finally said, still in that quiet, oddly normal voice. "We should talk. Over here by the water."

Clio stared back into the blackness, where she had last seen the creepy stranger. "Are you sure?" she asked, annoyed at how frightened her voice sounded. "What if he comes back?"

Lara scoffed. "Nah, that asshole won't show his face around here anytime soon," she said, a little of that cocky attitude returning. "Unless he's feeling suicidal." She took a step towards one of the benches looking out on the flowing water, gesturing for Clio to follow. "Move your ass, already."

Clio followed her roommate through the grass to the metal bench. She had no idea what was about to happen, but Lara seemed different. Could be that she was just saving up her fury over Clio's harsh words for one epic outburst, but Clio didn't think so.

The two of them sat, Lara leaning forward onto her knees with her eyes focused out towards the shallow creek in front of them. She cleared her throat, opened her mouth to start speaking, then muttered a curse under her breath. Clio watched and waited, as Lara pulled out a pack of cigarettes and jammed one between her lips before lighting up.

"Alright," Lara finally started talking. "What you said back at the bar, it-"

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Clio immediately cut her off. "That guy, he told me to yell at you like that. Whatever magic he used on me, I couldn't make-"

"Dammit, don't do that," Lara interrupted in turn, her upper lip curling up into one of her trademark sneers. "You took so long to grow a goddamn spine, don't go losing it right away." She breathed out a thick cloud of smoke. "Look, the shit you said back there... you were right. About all of it."

Leaning back, Lara stared up at the stars above their head, partially obscured by the leaves of several tall trees planted around that area of the park. "Must have been six, seven months that room sat empty. Every day, Isabella getting on my case." She raised the pitch of her voice in a rough facsimile of their roommate's melodious tones. "'When are we going to get a new roommate? We need somebody to help out with the rent, Lara. Help me write up something to put on Midpoint Personals for a new roommate.' Eventually she got sick of waiting, put out the ad on her own. I was _so_ pissed. Told myself it was because she did it without asking me, but truth is... I think I was still expecting things to go back to the way they were. That we needed to keep the room open for when Kyra changed her mind, decided to come home." A bitter laugh. "So fucking stupid."

"No, I understand completely," Clio said. She reached for the pocket of her jacket, pulling out her phone. "Here, look at this," she pulled up her social media feed, clicked on her list of friends and pulled up one of the names. "That's my ex's page. For probably two months after we broke up, I must have checked it three times a day, at least. Kept reading every one of his posts, scanning over them like a damn detective for any sign that he was regretting the breakup. If I'd seen just the slightest little hint, I was ready to DM him at the drop of a hat." She scrolled down, moving back through time. "Then I saw this post."

Lara looked at the picture on Clio's phone: a man and a woman, pushing in close together to share a grinning selfie. "Ah, fuck," Lara said, understanding immediately. "Ain't that a kick in the cunt? Just two months and the prick's already hooking up with somebody else. You know the girl?"

Clio shook her head, tucking her phone back in her pocket. "Never met her. Think he mentioned in another post that they met on a dating app."

"You got off luckier than me, then" Lara said, tone bitter. "Never forget the day I laid it out with Kyra. I waited until Isabella was out and it was just the two of us in the lighthouse, and I just bared my soul to her. Told her straight out that I loved her, like a fucking idiot." She shook her head. "Didn't even get two sentences in before I knew what the response was gonna be. Kyra was one of those girls who always had a smile on her face, you know? But once I got going, her smile was one of those 'Oh, God, get me the hell out of here' types. But even knowing I was gonna get shot down, I couldn't make myself stop talking."

Clio nodded. _Know that feeling. Of course, I had to have a perverted spellcaster pushing me along for my big speech._

"I'll give Kyra credit, though," Lara continued. "She did her best to let me down easy. But like an idiot, I just kept pushing it. Begged her to at least give me a chance, just go out on one date or some shit like that. So she hits me with the big bombshell: not only didn't she feel that way about me, but she was already seeing somebody else." With a frustrated grunt, she drove a fist down into her thigh. "My goddamn coworker, can you believe that shit? Not only did I have to watch her walk out of my life, but every day I gotta go to work and see that fishy fucker who stole her away."

Clio sat in silence, letting Lara vent. She may have only known the muscular, tattooed woman for a few days now, but Clio could already sense that this was a side of Lara Durham that didn't come out much. And she wasn't about to interrupt it.

"Nah, that's a bunch of bullshit," Lara said, voice filled with bitterness. "'Stole her from me,' like she's a fucking diamond necklace or something. Guess I always knew the truth, but it took some skinny little photographer shoving it in my face before I finally made myself see it." She leaned forward, staring down at the ground and looking like she was in pain. "The two of us would have never worked. A gorgeous, perfect woman like Kyra, be interested in a messed-ass bitch like me? Get fucking real. Might as well try to make a dolphin fuck a pit bull. Two goddamn different species."

"Yeah, it sucks, I know," Clio said. "Your brain knows that it can't work out. Like, when Jake finally sat me down to end things, I knew he was right. That our lives had changed in a way that... that we just weren't who the other one needed right now. Everything he said that night was one-hundred percent true, but I still fought him on it. I just didn't want things to change, even though I knew they had to."

"Right, like me keeping that room open for no goddamn reason," Lara said. "I mean, shit, I didn't even tell you the worst part. Kyra and that guy from work... they got married a few months ago. Got a kid now and everything. And here I am still thinking she's going to come slinking back just because of me? Move out of that scaly fucker's big Sommerset Beach mansion and crash at some old lighthouse again? What the fuck was I thinking?"

Clio considered this for a moment. What kind of security firm was Lara working at, where her coworkers were living in mansions? But it definitely wasn't the time to question that.

"Shit, just look at us," Lara said. The smile that she gave Lara then was quite a sight, probably the first genuine one that she had given Clio since the two of them had met. "Still moping over the ones that got away like a couple of high school girls. Aren't we just pathetic?"

Clio smiled back, surprised at the turn this night had taken. Some of the stuff she had just said, she hadn't even talked about with her closest friends. Or even Amedeo, who she normally shared everything with. But here she was spilling her guts to Lara, someone who she had hated less than an hour ago.

"Look, I know you said not to, but I really do want to apologize," Clio said. "Those things I said back in the bar, even if they did have some truth to them... it was unfair of me. I've only known you for a few days, after all."

This brought a chuckle out of Lara. "Yeah, a few days of me being the meanest bitch possible to you." She paused for a moment, looking like she was working herself up for her next words. "Look, I'm... I'm sorry, too. You didn't do shit to deserve all the crap I've been giving you. Only crime you ever committed was moving in to next door to some crazy bitch who got her heart fucked with." She laughed, not the harsh cruel laugh Clio was used to, but a lot gentler. "You know that thing they do all the time in the movies? Two people drive each other crazy, but eventually one of them gets sick of the fighting and is like, 'Let's start over. My name's Lara. Nice to meet you, Clio.'"

Clio nodded. "Yeah, I think I've seen that a few times."

"Always thought that was so stupid. Like, nobody does that shit in real life, right? So, how about we just pretend we did that and move on, okay?"

Clio nodded. "Sounds good, Lara."

"Great, awesome," Lara said, suddenly jumping up to her feet. "Now that that's settled, enough of this weepy crap. We should get going."

"Right, good idea," Clio said, standing up beside Lara. "Just in case that weirdo comes back. Let's get back home."

"Home?" Lara said, arching her brow. "Shit, the night is still young, I say. And no way am I going to let it end without having some fun."

"Don't tell me you want to go back to the bar," Clio said, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks as she remembered the stares she'd gotten while tearing Lara a new one. "Oh, God, that place was so nice. And now I'll never be able to show my face in there again."

Lara chuckled. "Ah, don't worry about it. Bet the folks there see that sort of shit every night. But nah, we're not going back there tonight."

"So, what did you have in mind?"

Lara crossed her arms under her chest, a smirk on her face. "Well, now that we hashed out all that crap and you and I are all buddy-buddy... think it's time to introduce you to the Reaper."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this will be the last update posted here. And probably the last time I log into this account.
> 
> Look, I understand. This was the wrong place to post this stuff. Just thought that maybe a few folks would be interested in the original work that I've been pouring so much work into. But since I haven't seen a single comment on any of these stories that isn't "Hey, could you write Mass Effect stuff again?" or "Hey, can I commission you to write something that isn't this?", guess I was pretty wrong.
> 
> It's okay. This place is for fanfiction, and I should have known that my original work would go over like a lead balloon. If by some miracle you have enough poor taste to actually care how this story continues, I'm currently posting on Wattpad (which is also probably the wrong place for this, since it's not about teenage girls making doe eyes at k-pop singers, but I guess I'm a glutton for punishment), and you can see what I'm doing there at https://www.wattpad.com/user/NathanAlmond .
> 
> It's been real.


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